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It is not a new country for me. In fact, I have been to Spain
four times over the last sixteen years. My wife, Patricia, and I speak
the language reasonably well, although there always remains room for
improvement. Regional accents and idiosyncrasies are found throughout
the many countries speaking Spanish. Spain, being the mother country,
hosts its many regional dialects in addition. There are even officially
recognised and encouraged languages. Catalan, Valenciano, and Gallego
are now found printed on signs and official documents in their
respective areas. These are at least close to Spanish. The Basque spoken
in the Province directly west of the Pyrannees is like no other language
on earth. But even here, a person speaking Spanish is able to
communicate well with the local people. This is because most Spaniards
are open, communicative people. If there is a gross generalisation that
one can make about any group of humans based on nation or tribe, (a
risky buisiness, but we all do it) then the one used for the Spaniards
would have to include the adjectives proud, direct, and friendly.
The countryside is also multifaceted. There is no doubt that
the popular image of semi-arid, rocky, and mountainous landscapes
combined with seemingly endless sun bleached plains, the mesetas , is
based on the fact that enormous amounts of the surface area of this
country do fit this description. But there are huge areas that do not.
So on that note, let us begin our trip.
Our family drove the first day to Nimes, France. It is 7-8 hour
trip by car. It is also a marvellous one, because the verdant mountains
of Switzerland and the French Alps gradually surrender to the
Mediterranean winds blowing up the Rhone Valley just south of Valance,
France. This landscape has its own light, its own sense of space. The
trees are short, the bushes usually shielded in thorns, the soil rocky
and hard when not properly irrigated and tended. We stayed in the lovely
home of some of our neighbors back home in Egg b. Zuerich. Hans and
Maria Rickenbacher wined and dined us, showed us a bit of Nimes(a
lovely old Roman town complete with a Roman Arena), and gave us a chance
to get a feel for the land. What of course interested my children in the
intense heat was their swimming pool. The Rickenbacher's home was
endowed with a generous garden. Olives and figs grew, as well as lemon
and cherries. The grass was short and brown, the yard surrounded by a
wall of stones. In fact, all the homes in their neighborhood were
surrounded by walls of carefully piled stones. Hans said that the
shepherds built many of the old walls with the omnipresent rocks and
occasionally left slight indentations to seek modest shelter during
storms. There was not much room in these indentations, but the storms
where probably violent and short, the air (and the shepherds?) drying
quickly in the sun which shines 320 odd days a year.
The next morning we headed to Barcelona. In an hour and a
half we entered Spain. Instantly the road climbs, pine trees fill the
landscape, and the road signs are in Catalan and Spanish. The highways
cuts through rocky mountains and flirts with the Mediterranean. Looking
at the blue-green water from our hot car , smelling the sea air in the
strong wind coming from the east we longed to plunge into the sea. I
made promises to Gabriela and Benjamin on how often we would be swimming
in those tempting waters in a few days time. But first a shot of culture
in Barcelona.
It was high season for tourism, and Barcelona is a hot spot .
It has become a major cultural center. The Catalans are ferociously
proud of their unique language and cultural contributions, as well as
being the economic power-house that they have become in modern Spain.
Franco's dictatorship brutally suppressed all regional tongues, and the
Catalans are making up for the generation they lost to Madrid's
heavy-handed rule. It feels like a smaller version of Paris; its
architecture and passion for aesthetics in general, its tremendous
emphasis on the arts, its openness with people of all races and colors,
street performers of all kinds on the pedestrian street "la Rambla". We
particularly enjoyed an Argentinean escape artist, who bound in a heavy
rope jabbered endlessly at us all, urged us to give money generously
whilst he was still tied up. He finally freed himself, and then hit us
up for even more change. I was so relieved that he was at last free that
I threw in yet another 100 pesetas.
The works of Gaudi- his parks, his Cathedral, concert hall,
houses are unique, and well worth spending time visiting. The narrow
streets of the old town, with its churches and squares, its shops and
restaurants, are now clean and inviting. The seedy port town atmosphere
is harder to find, though on one of our first walks around town I
somehow lead my family through a run down red-light district. I caught
hell for that, but fortunately it was the first and last time our
meanderings proved ill advised. And do not forget, it is Western Europe
, with none of the truly spine tingling danger zones that one can find
in the USA or Latin America. Barcelona is a fascinating big city, with
its own style. Well worth it.
Then it was on to Pucol, a suburb of Valencia. This is another
three hours of driving down the coast. I have been there on tour (like
Barcelona). It is an interesting city. It is not a *** attraction in
the Michelin guidebook. But it is a city with lots of history. The
Phoenicians, the Romans, Hannibal and his elephants, the Moors, and then
an artistic and economic boom before the discovery of the new world,
when the Mediterranean was still the "middle of the earth", as the word
implies. Columbus and the focus westward pretty much finished off
Valencia's hopes of being a major contender. But it's ceramics are
still known the world over. This area is currently enjoying enormous
growth and economic prosperity. We stayed in Pucol at the home of some
old friends. Pam and Vargie Johnson were also in Quito, Ecuador 18 years
ago. and both worked at the Colegio Americano where Patrica taught.
They are two energetic and interesting people, who never returned to
their native New Zealand to live. They and their three children lived in
Saudi Arabia until last year, when they decided a change was in order.
In any event, they offered us their apartment. The location was
terrific. Overlooking the orange groves, the plot of land where Hannibal
and his elephants camped, the sea and Valencia itself, the location was
a pleasure in itself. Once again my children thought the enormous
swimming pool at their disposal a few hundred meters away was the high
point. The neighborhood children took our kids to the pool, wanting to
get to know them a bit. The parents of these same children also talked
to us, and finally invited us over for coffee. Very nice indeed. Mind
you, by this time we were already on Spanish time. Sort of like jet-lag.
That means lunch is around 2:30 to 3:00 PM and dinner after 9:PM.
Restaurants were not even opened for dinner until 9PM in Valencia.
(In other regions you can sometimes eat after 8:30) This means that
everybody, children included, stay up very late. Mornings were cool for
sleeping , and late afternoons too hot for anything but eating and
resting. The expression night life was surely invented by a Spaniard, or
at least an Englishman who new Spain well. These people adore the
evenings and nights. In fact buenas tardes which I always translated
as "good afternoon", is said until after 8:PM.
Canet beach, just north of Sagunt was our spot , the
Johnson's having given us the good tip. The water was so warm the
children stayed in for almost an hour at a time. The waves were also
docile, even in a fairly strong wind. If you like to swim, the
Mediterranean is great in the warm summer months. We blended the beach
with excursions into Valencia, getting a chance to see its old city and
its newer late 19th century downtown. Both are very well worth
visiting. The famous Mercado Central was closed the afternoon we got
there. It is immense (I had seen it a few years before) and filled with
the most marvellous fruits and vegetables as well as any kind of meat or
fish you might desire. And all very clean. It is opened in the morning,
from 7:30 AM until around 2:PM. Next time we will plan better.
Our next stop would be Toledo. We drove around four hours,
leaving the humid sea air behind and entering the dry oven of the
central plains. It was unusually cool, but that still meant temperatures
in the mid to upper 30's. Normal during mid-summer would have been in
the low 40's at midday. And it never really cooled down at night to the
point of being refreshing. Fortunately, the Hotel had air-conditioning.
Toledo is one of the real cultural wonders in Spain. Patricia and I had
been there 17 years before, but it is a place one could see many times
and still feel its sense of greatness. In its best days, under
Ferdinand III and Alfonso X the Wise in the 13th century, it was the
capital, as it had been in the 6th century during Visigoth supremacy.
Filled with Muslims and Jews as well as the victorious Christians, who
were slowly reconquering the Iberian Peninsula, its 200,000 inhabitants
(around 12,000 Jews; I do not know the figures for the the Muslim
population) formed a high breed culture. A fusion of building styles,
mudejar , was born. Its basically an Islamic aesthetic, with the
refined sense of geometry and line, a certain purity that maintains
itself even when the detail is highly intricate. The Cathedral and the
two remaining Synagogues are absolute musts. Of the two Synagogues, del
Transito is the real gem. There are also magnificent painting from the
Flemish school and El Greco, the "Burial of the Count of Orgaz" being
the masterpiece. This a town is a treasure chest full of an enormous
variety of cultural icons. This city packs the great variety of
Castillian culture into one small area.
For those of us who cherish cultural, ethnic and religious
tolerance, it was also a living symbol of man's possibilities.
Unfortunately, in 1355, with pogroms and mass conversions under Henry
IV, the tide turned. Between 1478-1492 the Inquisition became
institutionalised. The reconquista was finalised after nearly 800
years of a war of attrition, and modern borders were fixed for Spain.
"Ethnic cleansing" we call it in today's lingo. If it was truly a
necessity for unifying the country at that time can be debated. What is
clear is that the symbol of enlightened culture in Western Europe, the
"light " of pre-renaissanse Europe, had been snuffed out. Yet... destiny
had another deck of cards for the Iberians to play . As we all know,
1492 also marked the beginning of the most dramatic age of discovery and
conquest since the Mongol invasions. The newly unified country of Spain,
and its smaller neighbor, Portugal, became world powers. Their truly
amazing feats of discovery and heroism, combined with ghastly acts of
butchery and cultural destruction, provide the national character for
the next chapter in their history. Spain enjoyed a near century of
political and economic growth; their cultural contributions would
continue for another generation or two after the destruction of the
Spanish Armada in 1588 and the final expulsion of the Moriscos (275,000
forcibly converted to Christianity , these were ex-Muslims) in 1609.
It was downhill from then on, with the loss of its foreign empire in
the early 19th century reducing the country to a European backwater.
All this is Spains history, with its boom and bust, its grandeur as well
as its stupidity and decadence. Since Franco's death in 1975, the
restoration of democracy, and the important role of the European Union,
Spain is finally reemerging as a vital and creative country. Its
hardworking people currently enjoy the fastest growing economy in
Western Europe. Evidence of this is to be seen everywhere. Huge
Supermarkets, filled with consumer goods, wonderful fruits and
vegetables; abundance and prices that one associates with the USA, not
Europe. And the stores are filled with people buying and buying.
Unemployment, the bugaboo of the economy for years, is going down. Home
ownership is increasing at unprecedented levels. Etc,etc. Now back to
our family vacation!
Our next stop was Segovia. It was new for all of us. It is only a
few hours north of Toledo. We circumnavigated the huge city of Madrid
(next time) and headed north through the mountains. On the other side of
this range lies Segovia. At 800 meters above sea level, and the north
side of the range, Segovia afforded us only reasonably hot days and
fresh evenings. Its claim to fame is the magnificent 2nd century Roman
aqueduct. This gigantic structure brought water to this fortress city,
at one time the seat of Kings as well. Its Alcazar (fortress) is
splendidly situated. Well worth a visit.
Then we set off on a long drive to La Coruna. The road is still
being built; no easy task when you look at the rugged countryside it
must run through. The further north-west we drove, the greener it
became. The houses were no longer the omnipresent red-brown tones of the
earth to the south, but rather the grey of granite, the bed-rock for
Galicia. The weather was mixed for our entire stay in Galicia; as it
remained for the rest of our stay in Asturias as well. All of these
northern provinces are in the hands of the Atlantic Ocean for their
weather. The sea is much colder than the Mediterranean, the waves and
tide more dramatic; i.e. a real ocean as opposed to a big salt water
lake. (though colder than the Mediterranean, it was no where near as
cold as the Pacific off the Oregon Coast. A person can play in the water
with no excrutiating pain) On the warm days it was in the upper 20's,
though the sun felt very intense. On the rainy days, it was still mild,
and people say the winter is snow free. It just storms for days on end,
with all the rain and wind one can imagine. As one native told me "it is
no problem, just wear rubber boots".
La Coruna is a mid-sized city. Some heavy industry still exists,
some of the apartment blocks are pretty tastelessly built (all along the
north coast one finds this mixture of beautiful nature and ugly outdated
smoke stack industry belching smoke into the air. Apparently, thanks to
the EU's regulations, this environmental and aesthetic eyesore is
gradually being remedied.) But the geographic setting, the buildings
nestled like barnacles on the protruding granite shelves, the heavily
indented shoreline providing countless bays and harbours; all makes for
a stunning location. The light house, the Torre de Hercules is one of
the oldest around, originally built by the Romans. There is a lot of
history, filled with famous pirates and generals (Sir Francis Drake and
Wellington) that took place here. The old part of town is also
surprisingly well preserved and worth seeing. We stayed in La Coruna,
using it as base camp for our excursion by train to Santiago de
Compostela.
The waitress in the Hotel in La Coruna told me to take the bus,
not the train. I did not listen. We paid the price. Slow, noisy, smelly
from the diesel engine; and on the return trip jam packed with
tourists. We survived. Santiago de Compostela is a marvellous place.
Since it was the year, in fact the first big weekend for this year, the
year one should make the pilgramage to this, the third holiest Roman
Catholic shrine on the planet. We never suffered from a sense of
loneliness, which is a gentile way of saying the streets, the plazas and
of course the Cathedral were overflowing with humans. Many of these
people were pilgrims, many of whom had made the journey on foot. They
patiently lined up to place their hand in the hand print below the
statue of St. James, touched their foreheads three times to the
adjoining stone, and saying a brief prayer of thankfulness for having
completed the trip successfully, walked away. Lots of people with
bandaged knees, limping from pains in the feet or legs, and sea shells
dangling from their walking sticks. The Cathedral offers a variety of
artistic styles, the Baroque dominating.
Having gone so far west, I wanted to go the whole distance. With
Cabo Fisterre as our goal we headed south. The countryside was
splendid, the air fresh from the ocean. We arrived in Corcubion, stayed
in a hotel with a super view of the bay, the town of Cee and the
mountains of granite and forests of pine and eucalyptus. The only
blemish in this otherwise postcard perfect image- a factory belching
foul smelling smoke into the air. But the wind from the sea kept the
smog away, the colourful fishing boats of all different shapes and sizes
adding a nice touch to the calm blue waters of the ria (bay or inlet).
The name of the hotel was the Horrero, named for the unique storage
shelters for grain made out of stone. Because of their church-like form
and cross on the roof, we had figured they were either sanctuaries or
even tombs!
We then hiked up the road to the Ezaro view point. Though
only several hundred meters above sea level, it and the craggy mountains
around it look impressive. Sweating after the steep climb, we headed
for the ocean beaches.The largest one we found was in Cornota, a beach
town to the south. Lovely sand, this half moon shaped beach boasts 7 km.
of white sand. A view of Finisterre is also afforded one from the
white sands. And we did get there, as did hundreds of other tourists,
because out on this cape (Finisterre or Fisterre in Gallego, the
local language; it means 'end of the earth' , which until the
expeditions to the Canary Islands in the the very beginning of the 15th
century, was considered the furthest west one could go on the Iberian
Peninsula), was a shell fish festival. This had nothing to do with
eating. The shells were used to built figures. Very unique and some
quite clever.
Now it is time to mention two subjects. Tourism is one.
In northern Spain, in the green coastal provinces of which Galicia and
Asturias pertain, there are lots of tourists in the summer. But these
hordes of people invading the beach towns are not Germans and English,
Americans or Dutch. With few exceptions, they are all Spanish
tourists. Thousands of folk from Madrid and the hot central plains go
north to escape the heat and sun that the northern Europeans are so
desperately seeking along the Mediterranean shores. So for those of us
seeking to get away from the northern and central European scene for
awhile, this was a great choice. The second item is food. If you love
seafood and fresh fruit, Spain is the mother lode. And in our opinion,
the best tasting, the freshest, and most reasonably priced seafood was
to be found in Galicia. The danger all throughout Spain is to order too
much food. You want to eat a salad with your meal and you are a family
of four? Never order four salads! Order one or at the most two. You like
chicken and garlic with french fries. Order one portion! Unless your
waiter insists that it is only meant for one person, a portion is to be
shared, as is a bottle of cider or wine. This translates into being able
to eat complete meals; salad, fish or meat, potatoes, dessert, coffee
and beer or wine for around 20-30 dollars for our family per meal.
If you are in a hurry, and want to eat some tapas and have a
mineral water, then the price drops 20 dollars or less. This is for four
people! Now these prices vary according to the location; you can spend
more if you want. But the quantity and quality of the food is fairly
consistent; the service friendly . For the cholesterol contious, the
health obsessed, or for those of us who do not feel so terrific with
heavy, fatty food, the cooking is always done with olive oil, when
cooking oil is used. Butter is only to spread on bread, and even that
is not so common. The basic diet is healthy, the danger lies in over
doing it. For those of us who enjoy eating, Spain is terrific.
Let me talk briefly about the people of Galicia, the Gallegos .
Their language is very similar to Portuguese; in fact when written it
appears closer to Portuguese than Spanish. But the vowel sounds are
still fairly pure, and they insist that it is a language in its own
rite. The people of the north and north-west coast have a high
percentage of Celtic ancestry. The Moslem conquerors never really
settled in Asturias and stayed very briefly in Galicia. Maybe the rocky
soil and cold rains in winter displeased them. Or maybe it would have
over extended their military supply lines. In any event, the swarthy
complexion associated with a typical Spaniard may not fit. The mixture
of hair colors, eye colors, and facial features is extraordinary. Green
eyed with curly black hair, or blond and blue eyed; it is a mixed salad.
Just to prove this I will tell a short story of buying shoes in Cee,
near Corcubion.
Summer is the time of the rebajas , the sales. Being much
cheaper than our adopted homeland (Switzerland) we took advantage of
this and went on a shopping spree. Patricia wanted to buy some shoes.
The woman in the store, a vivacious lady in her late forties or early
fifties, sells Patricia a pair. She, like so many of her fellow
countrymen and women, have the gift for gab. (No, I am to my knowledge
not of Spanish ancestry!) She guesses Patricia to be a foreigner, and
she turns to me. "You, she tells me, ' could be in my family. There are
lots of folk with your features." I smile and we jabber away. Her credit
card machine is out of order, but she says we can take the shoes, and if
Patrica does not like them we can simply leave them at the hotel (she
knows the family who runs it), or we can leave the money there. Very
generous offer, but I am not comfortable with this, so I go to a cash
machine, get the pesetas, and return to pay. Patricia meanwhile has
learned her life story and the history of the town. Later that evening,
walking along the boardwalk we run into her. She walks with us, pointing
out some places on the way, talks with parents, squeezes childrens
cheeks as they pass by us. Then three old woman come walking along, and
one looks at me and asks the shoe store owner, "Is he one of your
relatives?" So we talk to these spunky old ladys for a few minutes.
They report that a 300 kilo sword fish has been brought in. We race down
to the docks, but the fish is already gone in the refrigerator truck,
and as the fisherman says to me, it was only 140 kilos.
When we go out to eat, and as I mentioned the food was
superb, we had another interesting encounter. The waiter is a young man
in his twenties. As I am fussing with my wallet he spies my old
Venezuelan cedula de identidad , my I.D. card issue when I lived there
20 years ago. He looks at me and asks if I am Venezuelan, which he must
seriously doubt from my thick accent. He then tells me that he was born
and raised there, and that many Galicians went to Venezuela. We bonded,
and this waiter, who was already gracious and friendly, went out of his
way to give us the royal treatment. He introduced us to some shellfish
(not my first priority in the way of seafood) that we had never eaten.
Barnacles- I managed to cut my feet on them my entire childhood, but
never thought of getting revenge this way. And Tasty (he showed us what
part to eat and what not to eat).
One more historical aside. The Spanish have been exporters
of men ever since the 1492 discovery of the New World. One of the
biggest human exportering regions of Spain (besides Andalusia and
Extremadura) has been Galicia. Now we all know about the atrocities
perpetrated by some of these men in the name of God, King and Country.
(gold fever, escape from grinding poverty, etc; many must have been the
motives for leaving home and hearth) This drain of young men and to a
smaller degree young women, is slowly reversing itself as the Spanish
economy grows. The place of choice for young Galician and Asturians in
Europe is Switzerland, and we say other Swiss license plates, mostly
native Gallegos home for the holidays. But this exodus is slowly
tapering off as the opportunities at home gradually improve. There is
still a long way to go, but now Spain is becoming the first country of
choice for many South Americans, even surpassing the USA. The Spaniard
is by nature not racist; as was soundly proven in the colonialization of
the new world and the Philippines. Unlike the Anglo-Saxon colonisers,
who flinched at the thought of marrying the indigenous womenfolk or the
African slaves they brought to serve them, the Portuguese and the
Spanish men never seemed to hesitate. Now this basic openness to the
foreign will be put to the test as the the prevailing winds change, and
Spain becomes a home for the poor and ambitious from Latin American and
north Africa, whilst still creating more and more job opportunities for
their own young people. And as with the USA for almost a full
generation, women are now entering the work force and having fewer
children.
Oviedo was the last place before heading home. There we
stayed with a friend and former student of mine from Ecuador. Francisco
Barahona's wife and children were still visiting family in Quito, so we
invaded his new apartment and stayed for a few days. Francisco and his
family have Spanish citizenship- for Latin Americans it becomes possible
after five years of residency. Francisco is not only a generous host,
but a good tour guide. He of course took us to eat in the famous apple
cider bars. These folksy restaurants always offer mildly alcoholic
apple cider, which is served in a unique way that requires practice. A
wide mouthed glass is held in the left hand extended downwards , the
bottle is held over the the head in the other hand extending upwards,
and the liquid poured. One of the tricks is to look only at the glass.
But with both arms fully extended this is a tricky business. The floors
of the bars/restaurants are covered with sawdust where the cider has
been spilled. Anyone is welcome to try to serve it themselves, though it
is pretty embarrassing to be spilling sticky beverages in public. This
technique should be practiced out of doors or at home in the bath tub.
Benjamin and I gave it our best outside. Francisco also convinced me
that tu instead of Usted was the way one address most people in
Spain. Taking me to a port town where the orchestra was playing, he
asked a policeman where the church was. Basically he said 'hey buddy,
where is...". No formalities there, not even with the Law. As the cop
pointed in the opposite direction, Francisco then pulled a neat U turn
in front of the good officers. I was shocked, but no one else seemed to
care.
Oviedo is a city the size of La Coruna (250,000 ormore).
Its Cathedral and old town are very well restored. It should be
given more notice by the guide books. There is a lot of history there as
well. The Asturians were the first to beat back the Muslims, and they
credit themselves with initiating the reconquest of Spain. There are
plenty of 8th and 9th century churches and artifacts to be seen. The
beaches to the north of the city, on either side of Cabo de Penas (the
furthest north in Spain) can be wonderful, and the resort towns were
packed with tourists (Spanish). I heard the orchestra play. The strings
are good. Lots of Russians, but I get the feeling the level of playing
is getting better all the time at the local level as well. The orchestra
is certainly the real thing; only a few sections of the band needed some
serious improvement. But I will not be specific in this letter.
Professional discretion.
Then we headed home. Traffic was heavy, but the drive along
the coast, with the mountains to the south is stunning. The new
Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao is very impressive. Our last night in Spain
was in San Sebastian. A beautiful town, with the Pyranees to its back
and the sea directly in front of its nose. Like Bilbao, this is Basque
country. Here we at last ran into our central and northern European
neighbors. Prices were high, and the locals looked burned out from the
foreign invaders. Then onward, driving along the northern plains
bordering the Pyranees. This is very rich farmland, which slowly dries
out as one goes east. The mountains are big, reminding me of some of the
Colorado Rockies. The next day we stopped in Montpellier, France. This
is a University town, with an attractive old town and plenty of buskers
on the streets, as well as an unattractive drug scene. After a hot,
noisy night in a hotel (pickings were slim), we returned to Zuerich. A
great trip.
I realize that I was easily distracted in this report,
which at times wavered on the pseudo-historical. I am not a historian,(
heck, I can't even remember birthdays) and if I made a mess of some of
my facts and figures, I apologise. But sometimes the history of a place
helps give some depth in assessing the actual situation, and Spain's
fascinating and tortured history helps explain a great deal. It is a
Western European country that experienced no Reformation and completely
missed the Enlightenment that helped give birth to the USA and the
French Revolution. The forces of arch-conservatism seem to have
constantly prevailed until after 1975. Now the past three centuries of
decline are being reversed. The Spaniards, with their love of eating
and partying, their humor and ferocious pride; these hardworking people
have a serious element that seems almost anti-Latin in temperament. I
believe their history, their decades of poverty and suffering at the
heavy hands of Church and State helped mold them so. This dichotomy in
their national character, as with their many examples of physiognomy,
there varied topography and climactic zones; all help offer us a
country so rich in the past and the present. I look forward to
returning as soon as an occasion arises.
(August, 1999)
GCN wish to express our gratitude to Miss Noriko Yanagida for release of this article.
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