Près des Remparts de Séville

Wifie and I returned from a lightning visit to Seville early this morning; we left on a 6.30 flight from Reus and returned on the 22.00 flight that same evening.

With only a single day for sight-seeing we expected no more than a blurred and indistinct sense of Seville, but we managed to bring back strong impressions of a graceful and beautiful Andalusian city. The muslim past surrounded us during the day, for example, the Giralda, converted from a Almohad minaret to the cathedral's bell tower or, on the banks of the Guadalquivir, the Torre del Oro, a watchtower built by the muslims as part of the chain of defence for the city.

It's easy to understand the sense of loss that must have overcome the muslims as the Reconquista bit deeper into the muslim territories of al-Andalus. The city of Seville itself was conquered by the armies of Fernando III in 1248, and the deep sense of loss to Islam is starkly conveyed by the poet, Abu-al-Baqa, writing in 1267. Clearly devastated by the sweeping changes that Spanish Islam had suffered in a single generation he wrote: 'Therefore ask Valencia what is the state of Murcia; and where is Játiva, and where is Jaén? Where is Córdoba, the home of the sciences ... Where is Seville and the pleasures it contains, as well as the sweet river overflowing and brimming full?'

Move two and a half centuries forward in time and Seville, with the monopoly of trade with the Indies, is the wealthiest and most important city in Spain, "not a city but a world" wrote Fernando de Herrera. In 1503 the catholic kings, Fernando and Isabel created the Casa de Contratación by royal decree, to administer and control the stream of gold from traffic with the Indies.

Seville is an enchanting city to visit. walk past the University which used to be the tobacco factory and is situated Près des remparts de Séville and try not to whistle the Séguedille from Carmen. Go in Spring or Autumn if you can, but if that's not possible go whenever you can; the city repays even a fleeting visit with sensory overload.

The Muslim and Norman Conquests

There was a contrast between two different conquests in the last posting: the muslim conquest of Spain in 711 and the norman conquest of England in 1066. By coincidence that same night Channel 4 televised the first of a two-part 'drama documentary' on the events of 1066.

It was surprisingly good.There was judicious use of Anglo-Saxon and Old Norse, but not too much to alienate the viewer. Quotes from Norse sagas and the Anglo Saxon Chronicle underscored the action and the battle scenes, particularly the Battle of Stamford Bridge, looked realistic: small-scale skirmishes rather than large set-piece battles.

I particularly liked the lyrically descriptive language - the viking invasion immediately before the normans crossed the Channel - was couched in the language of the sagas; the anglo-saxons described the vikings as 'sea-wolves' falling upon them from the 'whale road' (the North Sea).

While this caught the imagination, there were occasional false notes. the makers were clearly trying to tempt viewers brought up on the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Not only did they incorporate the term 'Middle Earth' into the title (1066, The Battle for Middle Earth) they also had the anglo-saxon defenders talking about 'the Shire' throughout. I even swear I heard the normans described as 'orc-like' at one point.

I used to prefer the 'talking head' approach to history, a historian who marshaled, summarized and presented his arguments (usually it was a man) to the non-professional viewer. In recent years however, the ascent to television of historians like David Starkie has made me reconsider that view. The modern style of tele-history allows the expert to occupy the centre of the screen, booming away at the listener, using force of personality to reinforce a point. Meanwhile the characters and events under discussion are elbowed vigorously back into the middle distance.

So, despite the occasional jarring reference to orcs, last night's drama documentary, with no historians in sight, worked well. It wasn't 'real' history; it was an imaginative reconstruction of events buttressed by quotations from chronicle and saga, but like all good television it made you care for the characters and believe in their predicament.

Understanding the Spanish

One possible starting point would be to consider the theme of frontiers. Growing up in the UK, it's difficult to grasp the notion of a 'frontier society', but Spain was the quintessential frontier society throughout much of its history, whether establishing a defensive line against Islam in the peninsula, or expanding its American empire after 1492.

The muslims arrived in Spain on July 19th 711, landing on a rocky promontory of the Pillars of Hercules, which they renamed Tariq's Mount, 'Jabal al Tariq' (Gibralter). Within a scant seven years the armies of Islam had conquered almost the entire Iberian peninsula.

Christian counter-offensives over the next two centuries managed to establish a frontier zone in the east which ran south of the Ebro river down into what is now the province of Castellon.

From the tenth to the thirteenth century Alcossebre was part of the no-man's land separating the christian north, defended by the kingdom of Aragon, from the muslim south with a local power base in Valencia.

The castle towering above Alcalá de Xivert, dates from the late tenth or early eleventh century, built by the muslims as part of a defensive chain of castles which stretched from Peñiscola to Polpis. Xivert Castle remained a bulwark against the ambitions of christian armies for almost 250 years.

If you visit the castle, look half-way up the east wall, where you can still see an inscription in arabic. It has faced the morning sun for over 750 years proclaiming Al-fatih Allah - 'Allah is the One who gives victory'. Underneath the castle lie the remains of the aljama or muslim township, which remained under continuous habitation until the expulsions of 1609.

This on-going confrontation with Islam over 900 years is one key to understanding the Spanish. In the past, even if a muslim converted to christianity that conversion was viewed with some suspicion; no hay peor enemigo que el vecino - 'there's no worse enemy than a neighbour'. The convert could never become 100% christian, un viejo cristiano; he remained a 'new convert' or 'morisco'. The suspicion that moorish conversion to christianity was a convenient veneer drove the terrible expulsions of 1609, when over 100,000 Valencian moriscos were driven from Spain.

By contrast, the conquest of England in 1066 was undertaken by a christian army. William had been given the pope's blessing to invade England, supplanting Harold of Wessex with a Norman king. Apart from scattered uprisings the english were neatly absorbed into an anglo-norman regnum. At ground level it probably mattered little if the lord was anglo-saxon or norman.

Another reason for norman success was the purely local scope of the Conquest. it was limited by geography and constrained by law. Once complete, the norman success was formalised by the publication of the Domesday Book in 1086 - a meticulous record of the wealth of 11th century England.

Conversely, the muslim conquest of Spain was only one part of a co-ordinated attack on christianity: the warrior nobility of Galicia and Asturias in the west and the Byzantine state in the east were the only hindrances to the muslim conquest of all of Europe. It must have been clear to christians of both east and west that 'après nous le déluge'.

The Spanish today, have been in almost continuous contact with Islam for nearly 1300 years. In the middle ages Reconquista gave an outlet to the aggressive, expansionist ideals of the Spanish kings. However, even as late as the 20th century, the idea of reconquista retained a powerful hold on sections of the Spanish population; a notion exploited by Franco to justify a 'crusade' against communists and separatists.

Were the Spanish ambivalent about Islam? Prior to the horrific events of 11-M (the March 11, 2004 bombings in Madrid) there seems to have been a romantic attachment to Islam. Even Franco was not immune from this lure: his personal mounted guard, the Guardia Mora, who accompanied him up to 1957, was formed from the muslim troops who fought on the nationalist side during the Civil War.

Moors and Christians

Every year, the Reconquista - the centuries-long crusade to supplant Islam as the dominant force in the peninsula - is remembered in hundreds of processions that wend their way along the medieval streets of towns and cities throughout Spain.

There's an immense amount of prestige about the whole thing. The beauty of the costumes (and some are gorgeous) and the number of participants are probably directly proportional to the size and wealth of the community sponsoring the event.

But even in a small town, like the neighbouring Alcalá de Xivert, which can't afford to field more than a dozen Moors and the same number of Christians you can't fail to be impressed by the wholehearted commitment of the participants.

And I may be wrong, but I think the local moslems view it with amused tolerance; apart from anything else, the 'moors' seem to be having more fun than the christians: cigars clenched in their teeth, scimitars flashing, kettle-drums banging and trumpets squealing behind them, they swagger along the processional route. They may be routed by the christians, led by St George tomorrow, but tonight's their night!

During the Middle Ages Alcossebre was little more than a market-garden for the citizens of Alcalá; it was located on a fertile plain by the sea. But although where I live was no more than an insignificant speck within the medieval Kingdom of Valencia there's enough history within a walk or a cycle ride to keep anyone who's interested in the subject happy for a lifetime.

So I've decided to try and write something about the history of this small part of the Communidad Valenciana. I'm going to start in 1234 partly because it's an easy date to remember ('one, two, three, four' what could be simpler?) but mainly because that's when this part of Spain suddenly stopped being a muslim-dominated territory and became part of James I's Kingdom of Valencia. It's a big theme, but I've started to work out a path through all the detail. Time will tell if I can do it.

The Here and Now

Even though I trained as a historian, I'm not comfortable dwelling too much on what's been and gone, so no more about my past for a while. And if you're wondering why I studied history in the first place, I've come to the conclusion thirty years on that the choice of subject was driven by a need to understand the present.

It didn't work, I'm still as baffled by the present as always. So to keep things simple, here's the here and now:

Well, the sun's shining today (ok, it is Spain but it rains here more than you'd think and then some). If I say it rained a couple of days ago that doesn't quite catch the intensity of Spanish rain. To try and illustrate what I mean, not too far from here there are the ruins of a large church complex; it was destroyed in the eighteenth century by rain. I'm not kidding, rain here can be like the wrath of God when it tries hard enough.

So, the sun's shining, and there's a stiffish breeze blowing the trees in the park opposite. When it's quiet round here - and believe me the Spanish are rarely quiet - you can usually hear the waves on the sea-shore 350 metres away. However the current soundscape contains dogs barking, kids running around the play area in the park, and a bunch of guys from the ayuntamiento revving up their weed-whackers.

... and suddenly, silence. It's often like that; there's an unspoken collective agreement to take a break mid-afternoon: parents drift off with their kids, cats bed down in sunny spots, dogs stop barking. If Wifie wasn't playing Okami on her Wii, and yelling in frustration when things go wrong I could probably hear the sea.

As for smells, courtesy of a fellow traveller's sneeze returning from Sardinia three days ago, I can't smell a damn thing. Tomorrow I want to talk about history.

Introductions are in Order

In reality, not an easy task. But let's start with the basics: I was born in the early fifties. As colour didn't arrive in the UK until the sixties, my childhood was spent in black and white.

Actually I was lucky enough to be brought up in Troon on the west coast of Scotland. It's a peninsula, jutting into the Firth of Clyde so there were beaches to run on, sand dunes to jump off, and rock pools to play in. There was a fishing harbour and a breaker's yard attached to a working shipyard, so ample opportunity for trespassing and mischief. In short a great place to grow up, but you feel too old to do most of the fun stuff over the age of fifteen (we grew up slower then).

So after kicking my heels for a couple of years, time to buckle down, take on some responsibility and get a job; however I've never been ambitious, I've always tried to avoid responsibility and I dislike hard work ... and those are my good points.

To cut a long story short I bounced around for ten years before finding the ultimate slacker's paradise - University: one of the few places you can fool around for 95% of the time then, fuelled by instant coffee, push as much material into short-term memory as possible, sit the exams and hope for the best.

So, how did I stumble from moderately successful student to middle-aged fart? Maybe a story for another day.

All I want to do is blog to you

It's strange the things we take for granted. When I lived in Oxford it was an unalienable right for anyone to have a telephone line and an internet connection. The phone jack in the wall was your guarantee of online happiness. Then we moved to Spain ...

It's taken almost two years to get connected by Telefonica, the monopoly provider; two years of frustration; two years of using internet cafes to access online bank accounts; two years of envying those lucky people who took a connection for granted.

But strange to say, I'm not bitter; I'm just grateful to be breathing the oxygen of online existence once again.

My first blog, started in Oxford in the weeks before the move to Alcossebre, was meant to document the start of our new life in Spain as we (Wifie and I) took our first, faltering steps in a new culture - learning the language, making friends, tending our Mediterranean garden.

However there's been a two-year hiatus and it seems right to start again so, in the next post, introductions are in order, objectives will be outlined and ambitions explored: ¡hasta luego!