WALKS IN HISTORY: Rota and the independence of America.

            Back in December, I was lucky enough to be kindly invited over to an open house in the residence of Air Force coronel Carlos Ortiz, where I met with both Spaniards and Americans; some living on Base, some outside. The house is in the hill overlooking the mouth of the Salado river inside the Base. As I listened to the waves smashing into the rocks below I could not help but think about how important this place actually was to the birth of the United States. It might come as a surprise to many, but Rota was the site of an encounter between the United Kingdom and Spain that would in time prove decisive to the Revolutionary War. Surprised? I thought so...

            We must go back to the beginning of the XVIII century. At the time, the finishing touches were being given to the Iglesia de la O, the first regular English language national newspaper, The Daily Courant, was published for the first time in London, and Delaware was designated a separate colony. In Spain, the last king of the Habsburg dynasty -Carlos II “the Bewitched”- died without heirs, thus starting an European-wide war for his succession as well as a civil war inside the Spanish territories; on one side Spain and her American colonies, France, Bavaria and Savoy, against pretty much everyone else, especially Britain, Austria, the Netherlands and the half of Spain that belonged to the Crown of Aragón .

            The British in particular were very keen on taking advantage of the situation to weaken Spain and capture a naval base on peninsular shores. Thus, a large Anglo-Dutch naval squadron was organised (officially to support the Austrian contestant to the throne) under the command of admiral George Rooke. His first objective was simple: Cádiz. It would be the ideal place to establish a Royal Navy base from where to pester and raid Spanish trade with the Americas. Knowing that attacking Cádiz head-on was suicidal, Rooke decided to land his forces in a safer place, form up and then march on to Cádiz.

French map of the battle of Cádiz, 1702

           The landing ground chosen was the beach at the mouth of the Salado as well as the beaches at Fuentebravía. According to the local chronicle, the coastal defence forces did their best to weaken the invaders, but all the forts between Rota and El Puerto soon fell. The civil war had weakened the home defence too much. Initially, the Anglo-Dutch headquarters were established on the aforementioned hill which dominates the bay of Cádiz. Rota, El Puerto and Puerto Real were all captured in quick succession, but the real target, Cádiz, was untouched. In Rota there's the custom of putting pumpkins -and other vegetables- on windowsills so that the sun can dry them, making them last edible for longer. Well, tradition has it that most roteños “welcomed” the occupying “red-coats” with a shower of pumpkins from their windows. Even if no real injuries could be produced by these missiles, the message was clear to the British.

            Faced with an approaching winter and an unconquerable city, the British re-embarked the 30th of September after sacking as much as they could, including most of the works of art in the parish church and the fabled bronze culverin of Rota. This artillery piece was said to be able to knock out a ship 6 miles to sea. The defeat gave Admiral Rooke a lust for vengeance that would materialise two years later.

"El último de Gibraltar" by Augusto Ferrer-Dalmau

             In 1704 Rooke returned bent on capturing a stronghold on the Spanish coast, Cádiz was off the script... but how about Gibraltar? Gibraltar was an impregnable fortress (and still is) when fully manned, but after four years of war surely it had to be weak. Rooke was not wrong, the 3000-strong garrison had been reduced to just 300 men, considering militias and professional soldiers, and held out gallantly only for five days in the face of a 61-ship squadron. Although at first the city was taken for the Austrian contestant to the Throne -the Archduke Charles of Habsburg-, soon the Austrian colours were lowered and the Union Jack replaced them on top of Gibraltar's Moorish castle.

            Gibraltar became a key post for the British and their nascent Empire as it helped secure its shipping lines with the Mediterranean and India and became a hub for the Royal Navy in the frequent wars with Spain. Its recovery became paramount to Spain and any chance to weaken the United Kingdom was seen as an opportunity to recover what the British called “the Rock” and Spaniards “el Peñón”.

            The chance came in 1775 with the outbreak of the Revolutionary War. Spain promptly began to supply the Thirteen Colonies with arms, money and all sorts of supplies through Havana and New Orleans. However, it was not until the American victory at Saratoga that Spain entered the war full on. The British found themselves having to fight the colonists in the continent and their allies -Spain and France- in Europe and the Caribbean. The logistical apparatus just could not cope with such a wide front and the defeats soon piled up; especially after the Spanish Navy under Admiral Luís Córdova y Córdova captured a 52-ship-strong convoy at Cabo de Santa María in 1780.

"Surrender of Lord Cornwallis" by John Trombull, 1820

             Gibraltar was besieged by the allies in 1779 which put extra strain on the Royal Navy and the British economy. This siege would go on until 1783 in what would be known as the “Great Siege”. Gibraltar became a symbol for Britain and many squadrons were sent to relieve the desperate situation of the “red-coats” stationed there. These supply convoys were also needed in America, where the British army was in a dire need for reinforcements, but they never came. Cornwallis' last stand in Yorktown in 1781, assaulted by the Continental Army in the front and bombarded by the French Navy in the back, was the demonstration that London had placed Gibraltar higher in its' list of priorities than America. The British army in America had been left to take care of itself, but without popular support it broke down hopelessly.

            Had Gibraltar stayed in Spanish hands in 1704, probably Great Britain would have committed all its resources to suppressing the American rebellion. And maybe, just maybe, they would have won and the USA today could have a similar relation to the UK as Canada has.

            I like contrafactuals (“virtual history”) as much as I like History as it requires an informed and thoughtful approach to answer “what if” questions. What if the Brits had captured Cádiz and not Gibraltar? What if they could have been defeated on their first landing in the Salado? Would they have ceased attacks on the Spanish mainland? Would that have changed their policies with the American colonists? Would there never have been a need for the colonists to wage a war for independence?

           All this was on my mind as I stared down at the military harbour as the sun came down, the wind on my chest and the sound of the waves crashing not far off. Then someone called be back inside, there were people singing Spanish Christmas carols... and I just had to join in.

Publicado en el Rota Coastline, el 6 de febrero de 2014

WALKS IN HISTORY: La Calle Calvario.

            Whenever one decides to walk from the Rota Gate to downtown Rota one can choose one of two possible ways. On the right there is the Avenida de San Fernando, which became the town's red-light-district in the heyday of the Cold War when American presence in Rota was much larger. On the left is another street. This one has the small-town taste to it that invites us to calmly stroll downhill until reaching the town centre. La Calle Calvario.

          This street was for a time Rota's main entrance as the roads from Jerez and El Puerto ended here. The town's cemetery, granary and only gas-station where here and the train station was nearby too. It 's hard to imagine today how busy it must have been a hundred years ago... but we are going to try.

Plaza at the beginning of Calle Calvario

          We will begin our walk in the lower part of the street. Here we have a small plaza at the end of Calle Veracruz -Rota's old “high street”- where the old gas station stood not that long ago, and nearby is the beautiful Plaza de Pio XII -better known as the Sagrado Corazón for the statue of said image of Christ on a large pillar-. Until 1747 this was the end of town, but the town was ripe for expansion. The economy was booming thanks to overseas trade and the population was growing.

Patio

          People began to build new houses on the road to Jerez, moving uphill. These houses have a curiosity. Most of them used to be not just housing, but profited from the extra space to house warehouses or workshops of all kinds. Also most houses had two gates, one on Calle Calvario and another on the back, to the fields beyond. In the between them a long winding patio, usually with a well, connected both entrances and all the rooms in the house. Some of these old houses are lost today, but a many still are inhabited with their beautiful patios full of flowers and glazed tiles. If you ask nicely to the people living there (or just smile and show them the camera if you don't speak much Spanish!) they will gladly let you in to show you... and tell you all about it.

           As we move uphill, we begin to consider... “why the name?”. Calvario is the Latin name for the Golgotha, that is the place where Christ was crucified. The reason behind this macabre name for the street is that it used to be the route where a Via Crucis, the Stations of the Cross, was carried out . A Via Crucis is a tradition of some Christian denominations, but especially Catholicism, the object of the Stations is to help the faithful to make a spiritual pilgrimage of prayer, through meditating upon the chief scenes of Christ's sufferings and death. Well, Rota's Via Crucis had several stops starting at the Iglesia de la O and ending at the top of the hill, that is why this hill -and later the street- received the name Calvario.

Casa de la Cilla / Iglesia del Carmen

           About halfway up the street we reach a large building with a sandstone façade on the left. Today it is the parish church of El Carmen, but it has a more curious origin. It was originally built in the late 1700's to serve as a granary to store the Church's tithe. The tithe was a tax on 10% of all farm produce shared by the Church and the Crown. All commoners had to pay it, and to store it granaries were built where necessary; because these granaries were referred to as Cillas this building received the name Casa de la Cilla. By 1833, Church lands in Spain were not only ubiquitous but also unproductive. The new liberal government nationalised Church property to resell it to investors.

            The Manzanero family bought the Casa de la Cilla and used it as a factory for ropes, wines and tomato preserves, as well as as a store for the next hundred and thirty years. In 1963 it was sold again to the Church for the laughable amount of 500.000 pesetas (55.000 euros in today's money) with the condition that it be used sorely for parish purposes. In 1969 a new modern church was built in the rear of the building, albeit destroying part of the original patio.

            If you enter the church, the first thing that comes to one's mind is “this is not a church”. One walks into a pleasant patio with columns and arches, similar to a cloister, but full of pots with flowers. There are still traces of the primitive use of the building on the doors on each wing of the cloister. These doors have two azulejos that read “Vanda de Sanlucar” and”Vanda de El Puerto”, meaning Sanlucar wing and El Puerto wing. In each of these sides the produce of the tithe of each city was kept in storage.

            If we move along to the end of the cloister we enter the church itself. Possibly, the most characteristic thing here is the simplicity of the design; it is a chamber church -much alike a theatre- that spreads out the faithful in a fan around the altar, rather that in a straight line like in regular temples.

Cruz del Calvario. On the far left used to be the old chapel.

            To exit the building we must again cross the patio, and probably we will realise that it is indeed a very busy place! Many associations and brotherhoods have their offices here, so there is always something going on with Caritas, the brotherhood of El Rocio... When we step out into the street we turn left again to continue uphill, but soon we can cross the street to visit a small plaza. It has just a small iron forged cross on a pedestal. This is the Cruz del Calvario; the last station of the cross of the Via Crucis we talked earlier. Today it isn't much of a square as the palm trees that used to beautify it have been eaten away by an invasive species -the red palm weevil- but just five years ago this little place was enchanting.

Cheap housing built atop the old cemetery.

           A little known fact is that behind this small cross used to be the now lost chapel of El Calvario and the town's cemetery! It existed from 1644 to 1941 when the graves were moved to the new cemetery -where now stands the Parque del Mayeto- and in 1949 it was erased from existence. Cheap housing was needed for all the people that began to move into town after the Spanish Civil war (1936-1939) and someone had the brilliant idea of building it on top of the cemetery... talk about horror movies! Well, weird things DID happen at least in one of those houses. There is a small azulejo next to the door of one of these houses that states that there was in it an apparition of the Virgin Mary, and the tenant of the house was cured from paralysis by Her!

           Let's continue uphill, we are almost at the Base now. Just across the street for these houses used to be Rota's own bullring. It was used until 1952 when it collapsed under the weigh of all the “aficionados” that went there to see the bullfighter Paquito Casado. According to Rota historian Prudente Arjona, whom was present that day, the bullring just collapsed outwards (not on itself) because of the poor quality of the materials. Nobody was hurt because of the way in which the building fell apart, which must have been somewhat funny to witness.

           Finally, we reach the top of Calle Calvario at Plaza del Triunfo, where a large statue of Our Lady of the Rosary welcomes all that enter Rota from the old road to Jerez, which today is the “Rota Gate”. Had the Base never been built, probably la Calle Calvario would have continued due north becoming Rota's main street. However, maybe it is for the better that it has remained as it is: quieter and with a small-town feel to it. A street with hidden stories for anyone to try and uncover.

(Published in Rota Coastline  23. 01. 14 )

[Here you can see a "gigantography" of Plaza del Triunfo. http://gigapan.com/gigapans/45008/ On the far left is the entrance to the Naval Station / Base Naval. On the right, behind the monument, is Calle Calvario.]

Walks in History: The toponymy of Cádiz

            The word toponymy in the heading might be “all Greek” to some, and indeed it is! It is the study of place-names, their origins, meanings, use and typology. It comes from the Greek words tópos ("place") and ónoma ("name"). To anyone interested in History, toponymy can give us a wealth of information on a region's past. Today we are going to travel through 3000 years of history thanks to the place-names of the province of Cádiz.

Hypothetical map of punic Gadir. Museo de Cádiz

            Starting with the capital city, Cádiz was first founded by Phoenitians from Sidon and Tyre in 1104 BCE as Gadir; which means “palisade” or “fortress” in ancient Punic language. Gadir became a rich and famous city in Antiquity, with the Greeks translating the name as “ta Gadeira” and the Latins as “Gades”. With the Muslim invasion of 711 CE, Gadir was remained in Arabic as Qadish, from which the modern Cádiz stems.

            

            Also dating from pre-Roman times is Jerez. It was first known as Xera and by the time that Arabic was spoken in Spain it had mutated to Sherrish. Here we have a curious evolution of the name. In modern Spanish it derived to Xerez-Jerez. Jerez became famous overseas for its' wine which became a luxurious drink in northern Europe. Merchants from Britain came to enrich themselves on the trade, but found themselves unable to properly pronounce Xerez; instead of “Jerez” they would say “Sherry”... And the word stuck. Today the city is Jerez, and the wine Sherry.

Ancient image of Medina-Sidonia

            South from Cádiz, and often visible from Rota on clear days, is the white-washed hilltop town of Medina Sidonia. It was founded some years later that Cádiz by Phoenitians from Sidon, hence the “second-name” and until the Muslim conquest it simply was known as Sidon, or Asido. Under Muslim rule the city received the title Madinah, meaning “city”. After the Christian conquest not only did “Medina-Sidonia” continue in usage but was elevated to be the head of one of the most important dukedoms in Spain; “el ducado de Medina-Sidonia y condado de Niebla.

            Near to Rota, and home to many Americans, is Chipiona. Although it might seem an unimportant coastal resort town, Chipiona has been vital for centuries to shipping. It guards the entrance to the Guadalquivir River, and to mark that, it has the highest lighthouse in Spain. That lighthouse is a modern one dating from 1867, but is a worthy heir to the one built in 140 BCE by the Roman pro-consul Quintus Servilio Caepio. The lighthouse became known as Turris Caepionis -the tower of Caepio- evolving later on to Chipiona.

            With the fall of the Roman Empire in the West in 476 CE and the Germanic invasions which swept through Spain, most cities were abandoned as organised government crumbled. By 711 several tribes had ruled over Spain, the most important of which was the Visigoths and their kingdom based in Toledo; however, their time had come. Profiting from a civil war in Spain, the Muslim Berbers of North Africa sent an army across the Strait, making landfall on what they called “the Rock of Tarik”, Gebal at-Tarik; today the British occupied Gibraltar.

Old image of Gibraltar seen from Algeciras

            Just across the bay from Gebel at-Tarik there was a wooded island that quickly became a great harbour and shipyard for the invaders. The Arabs called it “the green isle” or Al-yazira al-hadra. Al-Yazira eventually became Algeciras and still is one of the mayor ports of Spain.

            As the Muslim conquerors moved north they renamed most places to better suit their Arab language. In some places only changing the pronunciation -Corduba became Qurtuba, today's Córdoba- but in others the old names were sent to oblivion. The river known as Baetis in Antiquity was seen by the conquerors as “the great river”. It was second to no other river in Andalusia; hence they began referring to it as Al-Wadi al-Kabir... Guadalquivir. Guadalquivir means exactly the same as many other rivers in the world such as the Ohio, Rio Grande, or Yangtsí.

Border between the kingdoms of Castile and Granada after 1250 CE

            After 500 years of Arabic-speaking rule in Andalusia, Muslim power began to crumble after the battle of Las Navas de Tolosa in 1212. A coalition of three Christian kingdoms smashed the almohad armies forcing their retreat to Morocco. Portugal, Castile-León and Aragon all built upon the victory conquering city after city with little or no resistance with the exception of Seville. By 1275 even Algeciras had fallen and the long frontier between Castile and Granada arched like a crescent across Andalusia.

            That frontier gave name to many cities and towns: Jerez de la Frontera, Arcos de la Frontera, Conil de la Frontera, Chiclana, Jimena, Castellar, Aguilar, Morón... All these places became border outposts in a war that would still last until 1492. If you get a modern map of Andalusia and find all the towns named de la Frontera you can actually mark what was the dividing line between East and West for 300 years.

            A place that could have been “de la Frontera”, but wasn't was Alcanatir. Alcanatir in Arabic means “Harbour of the Salterns” and referred to today's El Puerto. After the Christian conquest, the Castilian king Alfonso X renamed it as Santa María del Puerto; several “reconquered” places received similar names: Santa Maria do Faro, Santa María del Mar... With time the name changed itself around to El Puerto de Santamaría.

Street of Setenil de las Bodegas. 

            Still, all were not Christian victories. In the highlands of upper Andalusia the Moorish kingdom of Granada held out defiant, and the old Roman town of Laccipo was a spearhead into Castilian territory. Time and time again Castilian armies assaulted the city which is dug into a canyon, and time and time again they failed to take it. Seven times they met with defeat! So low was the morale that Christians began referring to this place as Septem Nihil, that is “Seven-Nothing”. When the town was finally conquered in 1484 the name Setenil de las Bodegas was used to rename it. But, why “de las Bodegas”? Well, the caves that humans had dug into the canyon for their houses were great for storing foodstuffs as they never changed their humidity nor their temperature. “De las Bodegas” means “of the cellars/stores”.

            But, “what about Rota?” you may ask. Surely it cannot simply come from the Spanish word for “broken”. Rota historians have traced back several names for the town, the oldest of which is the pre-Roman “Astaroth”; some have hypothesised that it means in ancient Iberian “The harbour of Asta”. Asta, or Hasta, was a disappeared city west of modern-day Jerez. The Roman name “Speculum Rotae” has also been considered, although no translations of the name really make much sense. 

Castillo de Luna, Rota. Built over the muslim rabita.

            After the Muslim conquest, a fortified Islamic monastery -a rabita- was built where the Castillo de Luna now stands. Rabitas were commonplace on the coasts of Muslim realms and many modern places in Spain are still named after them. La Rabida in Huelva, La Rápita in Tarragona, Arrábida in Portugal... or even Rabat in Morocco. Our rabita was named Rabita ar-Rutta; meaning “Rabita of the Frontier”. After the Castilian conquest the name was shortened to Rotta and later to simply Rota.

      

           Curiously enough, today Rota is still a “border town” because of the Naval Station. A border of shared life between two cultures that -in my understanding- feed back and enrich each other.

(Publicado en el Rota Coastline el 16 de enero de 2014)

Walks in history: El maremoto

          In modern Spanish, the word maremoto is hardly used anymore, having the Japanese tsunami gained popularity in the media in the last few years. Still, “maremoto” can be heard both in Cádiz and in Rota today, but to refer to an specific event; the earthquake of All Saints' Day, 1755.

          This earthquake had an estimated magnitude of 9 on the Richter scale and affected most of Spain and Portugal, as well as almost all the coastlines of the north Atlantic. Its consequences were not only material, but rather triggered advances in science, philosophy, politics, architecture and even had its influence on the future Revolutionary War! Interested? Read on...

          In Portugal, the prime minister Sebastião de Melo -later marquis of Pombal-, ruled as a virtual dictator as the shocked king, dom José I, lost his mind and never again slept under a roof for fear that it might collapse on him. He slept in a luxurious tent for the rest of his live.

          In the bay of Cádiz, the quake shifted the waters, sending then three miles away from Rota and towards Cádiz. That is half of the bay where the sea bottom became ghastly visible to all. The waves slammed into the city walls and custom has it that it was not until the image of the Virgen de la Palma was taken on procession to the walls that the sea receded. It was considered a miracle and even today, every 1st of November, the procession is repeated in remembrance.

          But where did all that water go next? It retreated back to Rota. Millions of pounds of water and debris smashed into the harbour -erasing the old wharf from existence-, overcame the walls and made it as far as the entrance to the Iglesia de la O. One of the chapels -that of El Rosario- had to be rebuilt. Miraculously, no deaths were accounted for in Rota, so in thanksgiving a mass was held; mass which is also still repeated today every November in the Iglesia de la O.
 

Proyecto para la reconstrucción del muelle de Rota del siglo XIX

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          However, the real extent of the damage would came later. With no wharf to protect it, the harbour was quickly silted up by the oncoming tides. The seawall became also vulnerable to erosion and over the next century collapsed in several places; houses and all. It was not until the modern harbour was built in the 1990's that the problem was fixed. If you go today to the small beach in front of the hotel Duque de Nájera at low tide you can still see all that remains of the old dock; the semi submerged rocks on the right of today's harbour.

          However, the city that was hardest hit by the quake was Lisbon. At the time this city was the head of an empire stretching from Brasil to China, with possessions in Africa and India. Out of a population of 275.000 well over ten thousand died. First came the earthquake, then fires broke out and lastly a tsunami washed over most of the city. Two thirds of Lisbon ceased to exist.
 

Arco del Triunfo. Praça do Comércio, Lisboa

          The king was paralyzed by fear so his prime minister went about rebuilding the city; increasing his power and prestige along the way. When king José asked him “What do we do now?” he just answered “We bury the dead and care for the living.” Over the next years a new city -A Baixa or Downtown- was built on top of old Lisbon; presided by a majestic triumphant arch; the triumph of Lisbon over Nature.

          To many it became clear that such a catastrophe could not be an act of God, but rather of Nature. How could God unleash His wrath on a people that had worked in His name and introduced Christianity to three continents? How could He destroy the churches, while leaving the Alfama  (Lisbon's red-light-district) untouched? Enlightened thinkers, such as Voltaire, concluded not only that it had to be an act of Nature, but also that God did not seem to care for earthly matters, only spiritual ones.
 
         This idea had many consequences in all aspects of life for many! It meant that disasters could not be averted by prayer alone, so architects set about designing new buildings that could resist a new quake in Lisbon. Scientists began to systematically study the Earth, setting the bases for modern geology and seismology. Political thinkers took God out of the equation and soon realised that the idea of the “Divine right of kings” was wholesale absurd! Kings cannot get their legitimacy to rule from a God that does not care for earthy affairs... but rather from those over whom they rule. Kings could only be legitimate if they ruled with the people and for the people. This idea would become central to the American and French revolutions; if the king did not respect the people, he was to be considered a tyrant to be removed. Exactly what happened in America just twenty years later in 1776. 

Iglesia del Convento do Carmo, Lisboa

         If you are ever lucky enough to visit Lisbon there is a reminder of the Earthquake and of what it means to our modern world. As one basks in the sunlight of Praça de Pedro IV, having a silky smooth bica of coffee, it is easy to lift up your eyes to the top of the hill on the south west; O Bairro Alto. There stands all that remains of the church of the convent of O Carmo. Its' pointy gothic arches rise up roof-less into the sky as the earthquake left it. It was never rebuilt after 1755 to serve as a reminder to all.
 

         Today it stands a silent sentinel to lisboetas and extranjeiros alike of the earthquake that shook western civilization in 1755. El maremoto.  

(Publicado en el Rota Coastline el 12 de diciembre de 2013)

WALKS IN HISTORY: La Torre de la Merced.

            Whenever a roteño thinks of his hometown, one of the images that invariably springs into his mind is that of the elegant Torre de la Merced. It is to Rota what the Eiffel Tower is to Paris or the Torre de Belém is to Lisbon. An unrepeatable monument which wispers into the wind of a bygone golden era.
 

            The tower itself was the campanile of a convent that dominated the east of Rota from the early 17th century until 1835. This convent has all but dissapeared today -where it not for the surviving bell tower- but in it's heyday it funcioned as a hospital, a school, a social centre and even as a novitiate for students of theology. The original bell tower was struck down by a hurricane in 1722, but it was quickly rebuilt along those elegant lines that today crown the Rota skyline.
          

            Architecturally speaking, it has a squared ground plan in the first two floors and is built in whitewashed brick and limestone, on the north face there is a plaque remembering the hurricane and the coat of arms of the Mercedarian Order which built it. The third floor is also squared, built in limestone with arches for the bells and copies the design of other bell towers in Andalusia, such as the campaniles of the Granada and Guadix cathedrals. But it is the top floor which stands out and makes anyone that sees the Tower imprint its' image in their minds. The square becomes an octogon with openings for the bells in all eight sides and is then is topped by a dome covered with white and blue azulejos that seems to converse with the golden azulejo dome of Cádiz cathedral across the Bay. The building is then topped by the cross of the old chapel of San Cayetano.
 

          Today you can visit the inside of the tower, although sadly the upper floors are closed to visitors, where the association “Foro Plural Torre de la Merced” hosts all types of cultural events such as lectures or -in the coming Christmas time- a belén; that is: a nativity scene.

           In the introduction I commented how the Tower is in the conscious collective of most roteños, well this is so true that when Rota built its' “house” in the popular pilgrimage town of El Rocío... guess how they crowned the building. Exactly, with a replica of our beautiful Torre de la Merced.

(Publicado en el periódico Rota Coastline el 5 de diciembre de 2013)

De putas y playas

           

             Son las musas seres caprichosos. Ayer dando un paseo me crucé con lo que supongo era un club de caballeros cerca de mi casa. Lo supongo por la decoración exterior -abusando del neón violeta- y el hecho que cuando me lo he encontrado abierto sólo he visto entrar a hombres. Mientras pasaba por la puerta iba suspirando por pasear por la playa, la cual debería estar a la sazón siendo batida sin merced por un temporal de poniente. Cuando uní las dos ideas llegué a la conclusión de que las playas no son tan diferentes de las prostitutas. 
           Ahora bien, igual que “el hábito no hace al monje”, tampoco el oficio hace de una mujer una puta. Sé de putas que no son prostitutas, y de prostitutas que sólo lo son en el trabajo.

         
          La Playa es una mujer que tiene marido -el Océano-, clientes y amantes. Además tiene toda una familia que depende de ella, de que cumpla con su trabajo en complacer a los clientes; los ejércitos de veraneantes que la disfrutan cada estío. Ellos llegan y, sin respetarla si quiera -porque no la conocen- la gozan: tumbándose sobre sus ondulados senos, bañándose en sus orillas y dejando dinero en la barra que son sus bares, chiringuitos, discotecas y restaurantes. Todos estos regentados por los pobres hijos de Playa.

             Ellos cada mañana la lavan, peinan y maquillan para que luzca bien durante su jornada. Y cada tarde tienen que soportar verla mancillada por colillas, cubierta de toallas y erizada de sombrillas.

              Sin embargo, antes que puta es mujer, y al acabar la Canícula se sacude el yugo, sale del lupanar y vuelve a dedicarse a sus amados. Océano la toma cuando la desea, echando a otros con tormentas y subiendo con la marea. Se sabe cornudo, pero no se lo toma demasiado en serio, ya que también él tiene por ahí sus aventuras con las gaviotas, las barras de arena y las fragatas. Y así, cuando el marido se distrae con otros quehaceres, y los clientes ha tiempo que ya volvieron a sus casa y oficinas, los amantes salimos a pasear con Ella cogidos de su mano.

             A veces le pedimos que nos ayude a conquistar a otra mujer usando las armas que ya usara ella con nosotros; pero la mayoría de las veces vamos solos.

             Vamos solos para pasear por sus arenas húmedas, a recostarnos apoyando la testa en sus muslos y mirar al cielo lleno de nubes que veloces pasan, llevando el temporal al Interior. A saborear su aroma en las frescas tardes otoñales y a observar -desde lejos- como Océano la toma con sus tormentas en enero. Es ella la que nos alivia los malos ratos cuando le lanzamos piedras si tenemos un mal día, y somos los primeros que la saludamos en abril y mayo -cuando va por la calle, ya arreglada y vanidosa, camino del trabajo-, y los que miramos con celos -y un poco de asco cuando coquetea con los turistas al llegar junio.

             Entonces tendemos a alejarnos; no nos gusta considerarnos unos puteros como ellos. Mas bien bajamos de vez en cuando a tomarnos con ella una copa, y a charlar de la vida, antes de que tenga que volver a subir a la alcoba.

            Y ya de noche, cuando mas cansada está, somos los que corremos por su orilla, le clavamos una caña o nos bañamos solos y desnudos en sus aguas.

             Putas las hay de todos los tipos y precios. Las hay para masas y baratas -verbigracia Benidorm-, las hay populares -casi todo el litoral español-, las hay de lujo –las rivieras de todo el mundo-, y otras exclusivas y escondidas como las calas de la Costa Brava o las islas griegas.

            Los hay que las prefieren vírgenes, otros bien transitadas, y a los mas nunca nos gusta el compartir a nuestra amada. En mi caso, “Costilla” se llama la puta de mi alma.

Granada, noviembre de 2012.

Símbolos desguazables.

6 de febrero de 2013, 10:15 Zulú.
Rota. Paseo de Galeones.


             El sol se eleva sobre el horizonte sur unos 38 grados, el viento sopla moderado desde el norte dándome en la espalda. Ante mí, mi querida ensenada de Rota en primer plano, allí al fondo Cádiz -Tacita de Plata- con su "segundo puente" por acabar. A mi derecha, la Villa de Rota desde su postal mas marinera y menos playera. A mi izquierda, el muelle de la Base de Rota -hogar del puño de hierro de nuestra Armada- con el Galicia, Castilla, Marqués de la Ensenada, esa porquería obsoleta que es el Pizarro, tres fragatas clase Santa María, y un destructor americano clase Arleigh Burkle. Creo que no me dejo a nadie.


             Bueno sí, me dejo fuera adrede a tres mas. Dos remolcadores, la fiel -y sufrida- infantería portuaria, que con su habitual y cansino ritmo toan hasta la bocana del puerto al R-11. No, no les estoy hablando de un Renault, sino de un Bazán, al portaaeronaves Príncipe de Asturias -PdA, para los amigos-. 13,400 toneladas de acero, cobre, sudor y esfuerzo español.

         
              Lo llevan al matadero. El Gobierno ha decidido que el buque se ha convertido en un elefante blanco, en una carga inasumible, para el Estado y que mas merece la pena desguazarlo que hacerle la reforma que se había proyectado. Ademas ¿para qué quieren los popeyes dos portaaviones, teniendo al Juan Carlos I nuevecito del paquete? ¡Que se jodan! Como dijo aquella diputada. Así pues, vuelve a El Ferrol para que lo desmonten donde lo montaron, que manda cojones. Como si en Fene no hubieran tenido bastante carga de trabajo construyendo a su substituto y en el astillero de Cádiz -que se encarga de su mantenimiento- estuvieran rebosando de curro. Pero ahí no voy a entrar, no es la intención de este artículo. Sólo diré que se nota que Don Mariano es gallego y quiere darle trabajo a sus paisanos; algo loable, pero manda caralho, caralho.

             En fin, que estando apoyado en la alustrada del Paseo de Galeones con el Requiem de Mozart sonando de fondo, al compás de las olas estrellándose contra el Picobarro bajo mis pies,
miraba como el PdA era arrastrado al mar por los remolcadores, mientras los demás elementos de la
Flota lo despedían haciendo sonar sus bocinas con un eco moribundo; como si fueran conscientes del destino de su compañero al que despiden para siempre. Y pienso: "Parece un Torrestrella arrastrado de vuelta a los toriles ante la mirada atónita de un público que exigió su indulto."

             Veinticinco años de servicio, sólo veinticinco años. ¡Joder, que somos casi coetáneos, que hemos crecido juntos, que es joven aún y le queda mucha mar por delante! ¡Que el Nimitz es un treintañero, se ha dado no sé cuantas vueltas al mundo y sigue en servicio... y lo que te rondaré morena!

             El PdA no es sólo un barco. No es sólo un sistema de armas. No es sólo, como le he leído a algún anti-todo en Internet, un "montón de chatarra". Es un símbolo.
         
             Es un símbolo material, no todas las armadas del mundo pueden decir que tengan un portaaviones, y menos aun pueden decir que lo hayan hecho ellos mismos. Es un club muy selectivo, reducido a España, Estados Unidos, Francia, Italia y Rusia. Ahora mismo, los british están sin portaaviones. Esto lo hace un símbolo inmaterial para la marca España.

             Un portaaviones es lo que antaño fueron los coliseos, las catedrales, las pirámides. Son la demostración palpable de la fortaleza de un estado; de su capacidad para organizar sus finanzas, su
industria y su I+D+i para un gran proyecto en común. Un proyecto común que no tiene como fin crear riqueza; sino impresionar. Y a ser posible, impresionar tanto que NUNCA tenga que ser utilizado para su misión principal: matar.

             Que un gobierno que quiere "revitalizar la marca España" coja y desguace un símbolo como este es algo muy corto de miras. ¿Cómo queremos ser respetados en el exterior si somos capaces que desguazar nuestros símbolos?

             De todas formas, no es que sólo sepamos desguazar símbolos; también sabemos olvidarlos, enterrarlos y negar su existencia. ¿Cuántos españoles de a pie saben quienes fueron Antonio de Nebrija, José Patiño o María Pita? ¿Quiénes sabrían decirnos de pasada qué ocurrió en Baler -Filipinas- en 1898, Cartagena de Indias en 1741 o en Tordesillas en 1494? ¿Cuántos españoles habrán escuchado El amor brujo de Manuel de Falla, leído los Episodios nacionales de Benito Pérez Galdós o considerado que los Derechos Humanos nacieron con la Escuela de Salamanca en el siglo XVI? Todo esto al contrario que en los, por ejemplo, cinco países que mencioné mas arriba donde la cultura nacional es ámpliamente reverenciada.
           
             Obviamente, aquí casi nadie los conoce, puesto que el suelo ibérico es un lugar donde valorar a España y lo español es meritorio del epíteto facha. ¿Y así queremos poner en valor la marca España en ultramar? ¡No me hagan reír!

           
             En fin; veo salir al Príncipe ya del puerto y despedirse de su escolta. Yo me voy corriendo al coche -tiene dieciséis años y mientras aguante seguirá en servicio- y me cruzo Rota para poder verlo por última vez desde la punta del muelle. Cuando llego, no sólo ha rebasado la bocana de la Bahía, sino que se adentra en la mar unas cuatro millas y busca a toda máquina el horizonte donde puedo identificar a ojo y con dificultad al Juan Carlos I y a dos fragatas clase Álvaro de Bazán -creo- que lo acompañarán hasta Galicia.

             Lo veo correr cual galgo tras una liebre y pienso "¿A dónde vas con tanta prisa? Quo vadis? ¡Que esos tíos tienen las intenciones del turco!". Pero el mar pareció traerme lo que pensaría el buque, "He de cumplir con la última misión que se me ha encomendado. No le daré a nadie el placer de poder decir que cumplí de mala gana". Me acordé de las palabras del almirante Méndez Núñez ante la plaza de Valparaíso aquel 31 de marzo de 1866: "La reina, el Gobierno, el país y yo preferimos más tener honra sin barcos, que barcos sin honra."

             Sí, amigo mío, se puede perder todo, menos la honra. Es una lástima que hoy la honra importe tan sumamente poco a aquellos al mando de la nave que llamamos España.