Guernica, Spain, Monday November 24th

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We had breakfast at Dany’s and followed his excellent instructions to find the bus to Guernica. We saw little of the countryside from our misted up interior, but we talked to the man beside me for the whole way so it didn’t matter. He had been born in Guernica and was returning after 30 years in Las Vegas. He wanted to come home, and also his dad was not so well. He had been visiting for years, and now he was there to live again, he told us that he noticed that the Basque people were fairly closed minded against outside groups and migrants. He spoke Basque, having learnt it as a child in the family, and he needed it to be able to speak with the ‘elders’. It was a very different term to ‘elderly’ and carried connotations of respect and concern. A happy aspect was that he had hooked up with a woman who he had known when they were both fifteen, and after marriages ending in death and divorce, they had rediscovered each other. Now he was looking for work, after a life time of finding employment in the hotel field, which is not all that big in Guernica.

When we arrived, he took us along to the main street and then up to the level where it would be easy to find the ‘meeting tree’. We overheard him talking on his phone in Basque and it sounded like no other language that we have ever heard. It was a very friendly start to our outing.

We walked up the hill a little further to the Assembly House, which was built near the site of an old oak tree which, for centuries, had been the meeting place for the representatives of the parishes of Biscay. They were called the General Assemblies of Biscay and took place up until 1876, when the Fueros (old laws governing Biscay) were abolished. The General Assemblies were reinstated in 1979, after Franco’s death, and continue as a territorial institution today. The Assembly House and the Tree of Guernica are held in great respect because they are the headquarters of the highest body in Biscay, and they are a meeting point for all the Basque territories; for all those who share a language and cultural history. Before the Assembly House was built, and since the Middle Ages, the representatives really did meet under a tree. As each tree has finished its life it has been replaced. Part of the hollow trunk of a tree that would be 300 years old if it was alive now, has been preserved in pride of place in its own little temple.

Below: The sacred 'meeting tree' is completely overshadowed and dominated by a vast Tasmanian blue gum growing in the park next door. Surely its days are numbered.

When it died, another was planted, which dried out and died in 2005. The planting of a new oak to replace an old one is considered to be analogous to passing on the culture to the next generation. The new tree was only planted in 2005 when it was 19 years old and has a long way to go to meet expectations of a tree inheriting such a past, but it is given its own fenced area and a pillared platform with the Biscay coat of arms on it.

The platform is used for the swearing in of the regional Prime Minister and the President of Biscay.

In the past, the representatives would all take part in religious ceremonies connected with their role in the Assembly, so when the new Assembly House was built, it was built with the dual functions of meeting room and church. There is an altar and fonts. Around the walls are portraits of the past Lords of Biscay, who all had to swear to uphold the privileges and laws that had been traditionally granted to the Basques.The Fueros (special laws) allowed the Basque country autonomy, even when Castile (the dominant region of Spain) was enlarging her powers. Cartouches name some of the dates of those ceremonies.

The Assembly Room is a very attractive room, and the stained glass window room beside it, which is a museum, is absolutely stunning. The window covers the whole ceiling, with the Guernica tree and the Tribune referring to the Assembly, the words ‘old law’ reminding of the Fueros, and scenes of pastoralists, fishermen and miners representing aspects of Basque life. It is bordered by depictions of representative buildings in Biscay. There are tables and chairs, and objects on display such as the guitar that was used to compose the song ‘Tree of Guernica’ and the little hollow silver balls that members of The Assembly would wind their paper votes up in and then pass over for counting.

The Basque region’s three provinces are Guipuzcoa, Alava and Biscaya. Basque is also spoken in Navarre. There are no records of migration in the Basque culture, but their presence in this part of Spain pre-dates all known migrations. Their language is unique and very old. Historically, the Basques managed to keep their identity and negotiate special rights in the face of invasions, including that of the Romans. They had a proud heritage and sufficient wealth, that increased in the Middle Ages and during Industrial times. Spain was made up of different kingdoms, and then had a history of invasion and conquest. The Castilian kingdom gained sovereignty over the Basque territories in the Middle Ages, but the Basques managed to make them agree to the Fueros, which gave them some privileges and allowed their ancient laws to continue. The Carlist wars were wars for the Castilian throne between various contenders, and after the Second Carlist War in 1876, Castile stripped the Basque territories of their privileges, mostly so that they could access the wealth that the northern industrial cities, such as Bilbao, were creating. Current Basque nationalism has its roots in those times, but was really fuelled during the Spanish Civil War. Just before the war in 1936, the Republican Government in Madrid offered self-government to the Basques, and Biscay and Guipuzcoa agreed and the provinces of Alava and Navarre did not. That saw the Basque provinces on different sides in the Civil War, once General Franco had attempted to take over the government, and many reprisals ensued for those in Biscay and Guipuzcoa who opposed him. The Basque language and culture were brutally suppressed. Guernica was bombed. There are sad photos that show how few buildings were left standing in the whole town.

At the moment, as we understand it, the Basques in Biscaya are governed at Provincial and at Regional levels by Basques, and at national level by Spain. They collect their taxes and administer all their own services. We did not have the opportunity to talk to many people, so we cannot say from experience, but certainly there is evidence that some Basques in Biscaya are happy with how things are and others still fight for independent nationhood, not just to be an autonomous region of what they consider to be another country. We heard examples of Basque people having so committed themselves to their Basque identity and nationhood that every other issue came down to a discussion of it. They would not speak to others in Spanish, even though they live in mixed communities.

While we were in Bilbao the leader of ETA (Basques and Freedom), the militant Basque nationalist group, was arrested. A cease fire a few years ago broke down after only about a year, and so it was expected that there would be some reprisal action. In the past that has often been the assassination of Spanish government members. People were literally waiting to see what would happen (We subsequently heard that ten days later ETA murdered a 76 year old business man). On the other side of things, our friend on the bus would like to see the Basque countries become an independent nation, but he was not a fanatic and he and his family just wanted to be able to be proud of their heritage and to live their lives as Basques. As he put it, “I’ll be the first to sign up if they can make us a nation, but I don’t go for all the killing.”

So why weren’t the French Basques similarly nationalistic? Two suggestions were put to us – their language and culture were not suppressed, and they were part of a country with a strong and wealthy centralist government that provided them with goodies. The Spanish Basques were oppressed and they have always had the wealth, which could be used by Castile and now by Spain, to prop up poorer areas of the kingdom.

We enjoyed our one patch of sunshine as we walked down through the town to the tourist office and then to the market. The rebuilt market does not stand in the same place as the bombed market, but there is a sculpture outside to remind everyone of the day innocent shoppers and sellers were targeted by Franco and Hitler.The produce on the stalls has obviously come from farms in the surrounding districts, with the carrots having twists and turns in them as so many of ours do. One stall looked like a mini-hardware store, others carried thousands of vegetable seedlings and the famous Basque pimiento was hanging up in maroon chains. Another section sold clothes; the sort of clothes that suffice but are not always a fashion item. There were lots of large white bloomers, skivvies, tracksuits and belts to hold everything together. It was a regular last Monday of the month market, the ones Guernica has always been known for, the sort of one that was in full swing on that day in April 1937.We were grateful that there were some seats where we could eat our lunch, because the skies had darkened and a deluge was beating down on the market roof. Keith had a little conversation with a Spanish lady who said that everywhere in the north of Spain would be as cold or colder than Guernica, and that Santiago de Compostela would be cold and very, very religious. I was well able to follow her gestures and understand her lack on interest in that one. Keith sounded very good, and said that he was using my language method of not relying on understanding all the words, but on gaining the gist of the meaning. It was just great for Keith to be having a try and using his skills and I was very impressed.

Eventually we trusted to our umbrellas and headed up the hill in the rain to see the Henry Moore sculpture, which is large and curvy, which was not a surprise. We did not know who had created the other large sculpture in the little section of park. Both were interesting to move around and through, looking at the changing perspectives and shapes as we went.Our last site was the ceramic version of Picasso’s ‘Guernica’ which is in the street. I tried to remember all the things that Holly had told me about it when she studied art at school, but I will have to do some research to understand it fully. It does express the horror of such an attack and the way people were caught unawares by a war machine.It is called a pacifist painting and Gernika-Lumo, as the town is now called, is known as a ‘Town of Peace’ and has a Peace Museum. We would have visited it if it hadn’t been Monday, the day of most museum closures.

We were very lucky that a bus left soon after we arrived at the stop, since it was bitterly cold. The interior of the bus was the opposite, with all the passengers stripping off within about five minutes. Dressed again to leave the bus, we slipped down into the Metro station and took a train towards the sea. We thought that the worst that could happen would be that it would be too miserable and we would turn around and come back, but if the weather brightened, we would be able to walk to the mouth of the river and walk along the cliffs.

We reached the Areeta station, and walked in light drizzle down to the river. Away from shelter the wind was very strong and conditions not pleasant, but we did manage to reach the famous ‘bridge,’ which is really a platform suspended from a huge steel structure spanning the river. The platform moves silently from one side of the river to the other above the water. It crosses the river twenty-four hours a day, with repairs being carried out while it is on duty.We took some back streets for a bit of shelter and then returned to the river when we thought that we were at the Port. On our side of the river we saw small boats and expensive leisure craft, and the main action with all the cranes and big ships was on the other side.We walked for about an hour, around the bend and up to the metal quay structure that now has some buildings on it. This was clearly a wealthy person’s playground, with mansions like castles on the slopes. Around the cliff face there was a structure that looked as if Jane Austin would have been comfortable writing about it. It was a three-tier arched and columned promenade that would have given everyone a good chance to see and to be seen. I longed for a summer day and a frilly dress, and a little intrigue to keep me busy. Keith noted that it had seen better days. The beach was a gentle curve but the waves were crashing in ferociously. Two boogie boarders in wet suits were crazy or brave. The cliff top walk was still some way off and the rain was becoming heavier. I imagined us being blown out to sea, with only the excellent electric navigation lights at the river mouth to help us find a buoy to cling to.We turned back, hunched over against the rain, and taking the first chance to leave the river path. We passed under the road to a footpath beside a long park, in a wide hollow area low enough for the road to be protecting us from the wind. You wouldn’t have believed it was the same day, the difference in being able to walk without freezing was so dramatic.

Some Christmas decorations in the trees outside a church looked like blossom, which would really be climate change gone crazy.

By the time we reached Dany’s it was just on dark, and all the lights in the suburb suddenly went out. The buzzer to tell Dany that we had arrived down below was not working, so we had to ring him up. Hooray for mobile phones and for a French sim card and credit still working in Spain. It was very frustrating to be home, but to sit in candle light and not be able to use the internet. By the time Keith had finished his candle lit shower, the power was on, and once he opened the computer, it was off again. Poor Dany had a work assignment to finish and deliver, and luckily the next stretch of power being on allowed him to do it.

It was early to bed for once for us, and no need to rise or leave straight away. We would be staying at a hotel for one night, because we still hadn’t been to the Guggenheim Museum which was Keith’s big wish to see. We had a little problem in that the hotel we had booked at and then immediately cancelled at for out first day here, had taken the total amount of a stay out of our Visa account. We hoped that they would be happy for us to stay tomorrow night and call the finances sorted. Dany was going to help us sort it out in the morning.