So last weekend – a weekend of glorious sunshine as it turned out – we decided to expand our horizons by going on a jaunt to a city in a different region of Spain! Unbelievably, we have only so far set foot once outside our own region, and that was to go to Barcelona last September. Time for that to change…

So off we popped to Pamplona for the weekend.

I say ‘a different region of Spain´, but actually that may be rather over-stating matters. We were actually still in the Basque Country, but we weren´t in the Basque Region. It’s complicated. Pamplona is in Navarra (‘Nafarroa’ in Basque) which is not in the Basque Autonomous Region (‘Euskadi’ in Basque) where Bilbao is, but is nevertheless still in the Basque Country (‘Euskal Herria’ in Basque). 

Let me explain:

·      The Basque Autonomous Region of Spain (Euskadi) comprises the three provinces of Bizkaia, Gipuzkoa and Alava (centred on the cities of Bilbao, San Sebastian and Vitoria respectively).
·      Navarra is a separate autonomous region, different from, but neighbouring, Euskadi, but nevertheless still a region in the Basque Country (‘Euskal Herria’).
·      ‘Euskal Herria’ (´The Basque Country’ - literally ´Basque-speaking Homeland’) is the name given to the wider area – spanning both Spain and France – where the Basques have always been – and continue to be – the dominant population. This area comprises the Basque Autonomous Region of Spain (Euskadi), the three provinces of the French ‘Pays Basque’ … AND the Spanish autonomous region of Navarra, which is NOT part of Euskadi but IS part of Euskal Herria. (Or at least the Northern part of it is – but that´s all a bit controversial.)
·      Confusingly, the Basque Autonomous Region, ‘Euskadi’ in Basque, is known as ‘Pais Vasco’ (‘Basque Country’) in Spanish, so that doesn’t really help matters.

As you might imagine it´s all a bit of a political minefield. I’ll come back to that later.

Anyway, it was a fascinating and very enjoyable weekend – and a very typical weekend in a Basque city, with all the usual elements:
·      a fiesta with folk dance and music in the streets
·      several political demonstrations
·      thousands of people eating, drinking and talking al fresco most of the day and night.

On top of that, Pamplona is a very historic and beautiful city with Lots of Important Sights.

Pamplona´s historical significance – it was a Basque settlement called Iruna before the Romans (still called ‘Iruna’ in Basque), a Roman city (Pompaelo, named after Pompey), and a major religious and military centre throughout the middle ages from the fall of Rome onwards – is a result of its natural defensive position at the end of the main route from France to Spain through the western Pyrenees, the valley which has the historic Pyrenean border town of Roncesvalles at the other end.

Pamplona-Iruna sits atop a massive cliff which looks out over the valley through which invaders would come from France. The existence of this route also, by the way, explains why the Basques in the more northerly provinces of Euskadi were generally left alone by invaders: no-one was interested in occupying the inhospitable Basque mountain land: they just headed south along the pass from Roncesvalles to Pamplona. Consequently Pamplona is often spoken of as ´the Gateway to Spain´.

For this reason, too, Pamplona became famous as one of the major centres of the Pilgrimage of Saint James, since it is on the main pilgrimage route from France:

Imagine ambling wearily along the pretty meadows by the river heading into the city having spent days crossing the Pyrenees. As you approach the old bridge across the river…

… you see the massive fortified cliff looming in the distance:

Once over the bridge, you see the spectacular view of Pamplona Cathedral hanging Durham-like over the cliff edge:

You make your way into the city through the Portal di Francia:

… and through the picturesque streets…

… up to the Gothic cathedral (which unfortunately now has a rather overbearing Baroque front).

(Of course, if you´re doing this in medieval times, you´re probably also extremely poor, hungry, smelly and ill, and your subjectivity has been exploited mercilessly by church and state, but let’s not go there….).

In town, you would probably also want to pay tribute to San Fermin, the patron saint of Pamplona who gives his name to the Sanfermines fiesta each July, famous for the lunatic tradition of the ‘Encierro’, the ‘running of the bulls’ through the streets of the city.

San Fermin was a pupil of San Saturninus (also known as San Cernin) who was martyred by being dragged around Toulouse by a bull. Somehow the names and lives of San Cernin and San Fermin got a bit transposed over the years, and so San Fermin came to be associated with running bulls – and that’s how the Encierro came about. 

Here is a picture of Pietro running with the bulls:

There’s plenty of bull-running paraphernalia around town…

… and there’s one of the biggest bullrings in Spain:

And of course you can hang out at bullfight-lover Hemingway’s favourite café, Café Iruna:

You can also visit the Romanesque/Gothic church of San Saturnino…

… and the shrine of San Fermin at the Romanesque/Gothic church of Saint Nicolas:

We even came across the entrants to the annual competition for the poster for the San Fermin fiesta, some of which we thought were rather good:

Elsewhere, there is plenty of evidence of Pamplona’s military role. The old city is surrounded by possibly the most extensive ramparts and fortifications in Europe, dating from medieval times until the early 18th century. Most impressive is the 17th century ‘Ciudadela’ which has now become a huge and beautiful green park around the edge of the old city:

Politics was much in evidence during the weekend, as it often is in the Basque Country. There was a big anti-monarchy demonstration (there was also a big one in Madrid) campaigning for a ‘Third Republic’. (The last one, the Second Republic, was in the years before Franco and the Spanish Civil War, and with the popularity of the royal family having declined pretty severely in the last year or two after the economic crisis and a series of scandals, republicanism is becoming popular again). Anyway, it was all very lively and the distinctive red, yellow and purple flags of the campaign looked very jolly in the streets:

There was also a smaller Basque nationalist demonstration, and plenty of Basque nationalist posters around. As suggested earlier, Navarra is a bit of a flashpoint for Basque nationalism, sometimes described as ‘the Basque Ulster’. This is partly because Navarra is divided between the Basque North and the non-Basque South, which causes political tensions, with Pamplona sitting between the two areas in the centre. But it’s also because, despite its Basque majority, Navarra has always voted against becoming part of a united Basque region, which is why it is not part of Euskadi – so it also represents conflict between Basques, with hard-line Basque nationalists wanting to see Navarra re-united with Euskadi (and indeed with the French Pays Basque too).

Why do many in Navarra not want to be part of Euskadi? Well, the politics and history of it all are phenomenally complicated, but one of the key factors seems to be to that Navarra has traditionally been one of the most politically right-wing, socially conservative and religiously ultra-Catholic parts of Spain, and this has set it against its slightly more liberal neighbours in industrialised Euskadi at several points in modern history – particularly during the 19th century Carlist Wars, during the Spanish Civil War, and at the time of the re-establishment of democracy after Franco’s death, where Basques of the two regions found themselves fighting on different sides. The fact that the Navarrese supported Franco (thinking that this would give them the best chance of maintaining their autonomy) certainly didn’t help relationships between Euskadi and Navarra.

Last year, 2012, was a bit of a milestone in this long-running debate, as it was the 500th anniversary of the conquest of the Kingdom of Navarra by Spain in 1512. Again, the history is very complicated, but this is seen as marking the end of a period which had represented the only time in history when all the Basque regions (including the French ones) had been united in an independent state and allowed to maintain their ‘fueros’ (see previous post on Gernika for explanation of what they are) independently of Spain. 1512 is therefore a date which has a great deal of resonance for the Basques, and it’s often used in Basque nationalist protest:

One current manifestation of the cultural argy-bargy in Navarra is the debate about official languages. In Euskadi, it’s relatively straightforward: the official languages are Basque and Spanish throughout. But in Navarra it’s more complicated. So we saw this poster….

… which is an anti-zonification poster, arguing that Basque should be an official language throughout the whole of Navarra, not just in the Basque zone in the Basque majority Northern area. Interestingly, only about 20% of Navarrese actually speak Basque – but the importance of Basque-speaking zones is that they force the schools to teach Basque to all students, as in Euskadi, so they’re a significant vehicle for national linguistic revival. This mapshows the concentrations of Basque speaking in the Basque Country, displaying the division in Navarra quite clearly:

Less controversially, the Basque folk revival is clearly going strong, and there was lots of Basque country dancing going on in the streets…

… including an appearance by the wonderful ‘Joaldunaks’ from the Basque mountains, who not only wear sheepskins and cowbells but also the most fantastic hats:

As for the ultra-Catholic tendencies of Pamplona – well, Pamplona is one of the main centres of the powerful and disturbing Opus Dei movement, and a byword for conservative Catholicism. (In the Guardian yesterday, by coincidence, there was a report that a Spanish revolutionary anarchist group called ‘The Anticlerical Pro Sex Toys Group’ (!!) have been sending explosive packages containing vibrators to the Archbishop of Pamplona…)

The Opus Dei influence was evident to us in the extraordinary permanent exhibition which has just opened in the cloisters of the Cathedral. Called ‘Occidens’, it purports to tell the story of Western civilisation through the buildings and artefacts of the cathedral precincts.

Beautifully designed, with state-of-the-art audio-visuals, lighting, display and graphic design, the whole thing was an outrageous and extremely expensive piece of propaganda for ultra-conservative Catholicism, which essentially argued that without Catholicism there would be no western civilisation. Everything from Democracy to Human Rights, via the Enlightenment, had apparently been encouraged and embraced, if not invented, by the Catholic Church. The final message of the exhibition was that all those achievements are now threatened by modern society, and the church is engaged in a’ fourth crusade’ against the greatest evil of modern society, relativism - depicted bizarrely as "an artificial pink-coloured world without mystery or depth" and represented by a pink plastic shed which we were invited to compare with the splendours of the cathedral...

We ended up angry - not least that we had paid 5 euros each in entrance fees to help finance this appalling nonsense.

To finish on a happier note, we had a lovely stroll around the meadows by the river, where there was an old medieval and 19th century mill which has been converted into a beautiful café overhanging the river, with a wonderful little footbridge across the river, and a spectacular lift to take you up the cliff to the old city above:

A week of glorious sunshine and heat here... but how about this for a temperature drop?

                                                               Cave paintings at Santimamine, near Gernika (not my photo)

Abstract sculpture is big in the Basque Country – undoubtedly the most characteristic Basque art form. The two leading, and internationally known, figures are Eduardo Chillida (1924-2002) and Jorge Oteiza (1908-2003), leaders of the ‘Escuela Vasca’, the Basque School of sculpture. Their sculptures, and those of their pupils, can be found all over the Basque country, both in galleries and museums, and as public art in the streets and built into the landscape.

Both sculptors were inspired to a great extent by Basque history and culture, as well as the general tendencies of modernism. Oteiza in particular (for instance in a 1963 essay called ‘Quousque Tandem: An Effort to Interpret the Aesthetics of the Basque Soul – Its Origin in the Neolithic Cromlech and its Restoration for Contemporary Art’) wrote about the long sweep of Basque art back to the extraordinary prehistoric cave paintings and dolmens (example below, not my photo) which can be found around the wild hills of the Basque Country, and incorporated these influences into his theories about and the relationship between people, art and the landscape.

Both sculptors play with space enclosed by spheres and lines, and with materials that evoke Basque landscape and history, such as granite and the rusting ship steel that we also see in Serra’s sculptures in the Guggenheim and in the shell of the Euskalduna concert hall. A huge Oteiza sculpture occupies a focal position outside the town hall in Bilbao:

One of Chillida’s massive quasi-prehistoric monuments is at the top of the dramatic riverside steps by the Zubiburi bridge:

This very beautiful Chillida cross is situated in one of the churches in San Sebastian:

In San Sebastian, too, there is a series of sculptures around the bay, including one of Chillida’s most famous – El Peine del Viento – ‘The Comb of the Winds’:

A big Oteiza sculpture sits opposite it on the other side of the mouth of the bay:

And here is another Chillida sculpture in San Sebastian with the Oteiza sculpture in the background:

The Bellas Artes (Fien Arts) Museum in Bilbao also has a great collection of sculptures by Chillida and Oteiza:

And the most influential of their pupils, Nestor Bastorretxea, has an exhibition at the museum this month:

The Bellas Artes - a fantastic art gallery, with one of the best collections in Spain - also has a very interesting collection of paintings by Basque artists. A very particular style of Basque nationalist art – somewhat muscular and idealised depictions of Basque village and harbour life – developed early in the twentieth century. The Arrue Brothers (Ramiro, Alberto, Ricardo and Jose) are the most celebrated exponents of the style, although each had their own sub-style. Jose Arrue, the most well-known, tended towards a popular illustrative style, often painting big canvases depicting Basque village festivals. Although sentimental, they are beautiful, and, having been at one of these festivals (at Bermeo – see earlier post), I can vouch for the way in which they get their spirit across – both people and landscape. They also seem reminiscent of some of the poster art of 1930s Britain.  (Photos of paintings below taken from the internet.)

These pictures have become symbolic of Basque folk culture, and can, for instance, be seen on the lids of boxes of chocolate on sale at a branch of Arrese, the premier Bilbao cake and chocolate shop:

Despite Jose’s popular style, the Arrue brothers mixed in the most distinguished artistic circles in France and Spain, and others of their paintings show their ‘high art’ credentials clearly – for instance, Ricardo Arrue’s ‘Harbour’ (1932) and Ramiro Arrue’s ‘Basques Playing Cards’ (1919):

Two other brothers, Ramon and Valentin Zubiaurre, also painted in a similar style. Here are two by Valentin Zubiaurre,  ‘Bertsolaris’ (1916) and ‘For the Victims of the Sea’ (1914):

Another very striking artist of this group is Aurelio Arteta. Here’s his ‘Countryman with Cow and Calf’ (1914):

And this is a very powerful later painting of his, ‘War Triptych’ (1937), painted during the Spanish Civil War

Here’s one by Manuel Losada, ‘The Rowers’ (1912), which depicts exactly the scene we saw a few months ago – 100 years exactly after the painting –rowers at the regatta in Bermeo:

Apart from the Basque art (of which I’ve only mentioned a small element), the Bellas Artes museum is full of treasures, from great medieval sacred Spanish works to modern and contemporary international works, and we’ve spent several happy weekend afternoons in there.

The building itself is an early 20th century redbrick museum which has been enveloped imaginatively by a new glass building.

It overlooks the 19th century ´central park´ of Bilbao, built, like many other things in 19th century Bilbao, in imitation of British models, in this case clearly an attempt to recreate the British municipal arboretum.

There are fine museums of modern and older art in both San Sebastian (San Telmo Museo) and Vitoria (‘Artium’ and the Bellas Artes Museum) too, containing many Basque works, as well as in the French Basque town of Bayonne (Musee Basque).

infanta! madonna! guernica! hiroshima!
    (From Study No X, by Pierre Coupey)

A couple of weeks ago, we made our first visit to Guernica (Gernika in Basque), 20 miles or so east of Bilbao. Gernika is the town which was bombed mercilessly by the Germans (at Franco´s behest) during the Spanish Civil War in 1937, in a kind of practice-run for the bombings of the second world war, and which inspired Picasso´s famous painting of the same name.

Franco was out to get the Basques because anyone wanting to control Spain has to reckon with the Basques, who have never really wanted to be part of Spain (it's complicated....) and have retained a tight hold on their border-land, their language and their identity throughout their history. Franco wanted to consolidate his grasp on the whole country, and the Basques were not standing for it. So he decided to show them he meant business by enlisting Hitler to attack perhaps the most symbolically significant town in the Basque Country.

Gernika is central to Basque culture as it´s where Basque leaders (‘Lehendakariak’) for centuries swore (under a sacred oak tree on the hill above the town) to respect the ‘fueros’, the ancient Basque ‘foral laws’ which guaranteed certain democratic and territorial rights to the Basque people.  These laws were often noted by philosophers and politicians of the past as being a forerunner of democratic constitutions. There’s a monument in Bilbao to the American president John Adams, for instance, who cited the Basque fueros as a major influence in the formation of the US constitution.

Controversially, the fueros were suspended when the Spanish constitution of 1876 was introduced, after the complex Carlist Wars which focused on the Basque Country; but the Lehendakariak (since 1978 the presidents of the Basque Country Autonomous Region, under the provisions of the ‘Gernika Statute’ which gave a considerable measure of autonomy back to the Basques) are still sworn in to office here in the beautiful assembly buildings by the oak tree (which fortunately were not destroyed by Hitler´s bombs). (I'm afraid it was a rather dull day when I took the pictures and it was midwinter so the trees are not in leaf...)

Whenever the oak tree looks like dying, a new one is planted next to it using an acorn from the existing tree. Currently, the remains of the previous oak are contained within a classical style canopy while a young oak is doing its ceremonial duty nearby.

Inside the assembly buildings, there´s a lovely oval assembly chamber, and a ceremonial hall with a spectacular glass ceiling showing the sacred oak and the Basque people.

The window was made by a distinguished 19the century Bilbao stained glass workshop whose windows can be seen in various places in Bilbao, too. Perhaps the most spectacular is the great window in the main Bilbao railway station, Abando, which depicts the Bilbao industrial revolution.

Gernika´s sacred oak tree and its bond with the fueros – central symbols of Basque national identity – and its suffering at the hands of the Germans and the Spanish state during the Spanish civil war – make it a poignant and politically highly significant place.  The town itself, devastated by the bombing – and Franco went on to bomb many other Basque towns, though not as devastatingly as Gernika – has now been rebuilt, and is home to two fine museums – the Museum of the Basque Country, and a Peace Museum, which together tell the story of Basque identity, culture and conflict from the stone age to the Civil War, and on to ETA terrorism and contemporary Basque nationalism.

And what of Picasso’s painting? Picasso’s role as an ambassador of peace and an anti-fascist activist – which came about partly through his natural political leanings and partly as a result of the iconic status of the Guernica painting – is something I’ve only recently learnt about, first through a great exhibition, ‘Picasso and Modern British Art’ which I saw in Edinburgh last year, and currently through an exceptionally interesting exhibition that´s on at the Guggenheim now, called ‘L’Art en Guerre: France 1938-1947 - from Picasso to Dubuffet.’ The painting itself is in Madrid, who won’t allow it to be moved to Guernica – yet another nail in the coffin of the tense relationship between Madrid and the Basque Country.

Although Guernica has strong symbolic and ceremonial significance, it´s not, by the way, where Basque government happens. The Basque Parliament, and the residence of the Lehendakari, is in the beautiful city of Vitoria (Gasteiz in Basque) in the south of the Basque Country, which I’ll write about later, and Basque Government buildings are distributed through the three main cities of Bilbao, Vitoria and San Sebastian.

There were impressive penitential processions each day last week in various parts of Bilbao, culminating in the Easter Sunday procession.  On Good Friday, though, we decided to go to a slightly different event that takes place each year in the little town of Balmaseda (population about 7000), about 25 miles from Bilbao.

Balmaseda is a pretty little town, surrounded by beautiful hills, with a medieval fortified bridge at its centre.

It’s in a largely Spanish-speaking part of the Basque Country to the west of Bilbao (Los Encartaciones) which juts out into the region of Cantabria. Each year a ‘pasion viviente’ (living passion) takes place in the town, and hundreds of people from the town and the countryside around converge there to witness it.

The living passion is a bit like a cross between a procession and a mystery play. The whole town comes together to stage the events of the passion, with parts played by townspeople. The whole thing is essentially a series of tableaux without words which take place as part of a procession. Instead of telling the story through the usual ‘pasos’ – floats carried by nazarenos containing scenes from the passion in statue form – this town tells the story through tableaux of live costumed people – and it has been this way since the early sixteenth century. Individuals play specific parts – Jesus, Pilate, Mary, Barabbas, etc. – but most of the participants are Roman centurions and Pharisees (male) and inhabitants of Jerusalem (male and female). Apparently the town’s male inhabitants start to learn how to do the centurion role – with its superbly well-rehearsed marching and drumming – when they are boys, so that they can take over from their fathers later.

Some of the earlier events of the passion are enacted during the days preceding Good Friday. On Good Friday itself, the event starts with everyone gathered outside the church of Santa Clara, which seems to represent Pontius Pilate’s palace. First we see Judas hang himself on a tree nearby, and then we watch the arrival of the centurions, of Pilate’s entourage and of the  Pharisees.

Jesus arrives, and is condemned by Pilate; and we then see his flagellation (with very realistic-looking paint for blood!).

We see him assume the cross and set off on the Via Crucis, accompanied by the two thieves who will eventually be crucified with him.

The entire company processes around the town, stopping every now and then to enact the stations of the cross along the Via Crucis.

As the procession nears Golgotha, it crosses the medieval bridge:

Finally, a couple of hours after the whole thing began, they reach Golgotha, where the crucifixion takes place.

The enactment is a procession with simple tableaux rather than a sophisticated dramatic performance, but it’s a massive event involving the whole town which represents – like so many other things we’ve seen in the Basque Country - an enormous communal effort. It was a fascinating thing to see.

Finally,  here are a few more pictures of processions in Bilbao during the week: