My day of helicopters, blue fingers, and lilacs
In any case, "Día de libro" or no, it was a work day for me. (I regret missing all the special reading related activities over the weekend, some of which were genuinely cool, but I had houseguests and then I was exhausted.) I got up bright and early and headed again for the Archivo General de Administración in Alcalá de Henares, catching a 10:30 train from Atocha practically as it pulled into the station, and arriving in Alcalá just after 11:00 on a commute that has by now become familiar. Today I verified that the quickest way from the station to the archive does indeed completely bypass the historic and picturesque city center, and most of the university buildings, so I hurried along unpicturesque ways through the sunshine and got to the archive in time for a solid three hours of work.
I thought it was a coincidence that there was a police car sitting at the station (after all, police have to cruise somewhere), but I was a little startled to see two municipales standing at what seemed to be loose ends at the corner where the Paseo de la estación ends and the road either continues toward the archive or turns toward the historic center. Across the street from the municipales there was a policía nacional, also standing around (looking lonely because unlike the pair across the street he didn't have a partner, only a moto parked on the sidewalk).
When I got to the next corner there was another set of policemen, and I also noticed that in the haze of warm sunshine a helicopter was buzzing overhead, low and quite loud. The next corner was more policemen and another helicopter (or the same one going in circles).
I hurried along to the archive, and since I knew I would have to put my bag through a metal detector and get an ID badge at the guardhouse I took advantage of the semi-official status of the guard (who was standing outdoors too, although possibly just because it was lovely and warm weather) to ask ¿si pasa algo? and refer to the helicopters and police presence. I was thinking it might be a student demonstration, since we are coming close to the monumental fiftieth anniversary of May 1968, and some things are always in style. (Students at Alcalá seem like a contented lot generally, but one can always find something to demonstrate about. Tuition fees would be a good one.) It turns out I was completely wrong.
"Es que viene el rey," the guard explained readily. "Para entregar el premio Cervantes."
Of course. The Premio Cervantes is given on the Día del Libro, and the king gives it. So there was a royal presence, hence the helicopters and unnecessary police. Pfft.
I hurried away from the noise of the helicopters into the gleaming glass of the archive, and was promptly buried in "an atmosphere as restful as an undiscovered tomb" as Professor Higgins says, with all the people who were working normally.
I have figured out a good deal more about how the folders are organized inside each box (foolish, but useful), and also some abbreviations that didn't make sense in the finding aid. (Oficina del J.E. is the office of the Jefe de Estado, and Dir. de E - is Dirección de Estado.) I started moving a bit more quickly, which was useful, and found some tourism folders that were completely stuffed with letters about fines to hotels that were over charging or hadn't put the prices in a visible place or similar. I also discovered a few skinny folders from the Dirección de Marruecos y las Colonias, including announcements celebrating the Día de África, with talks about history and literature, and expositions of paintings (of Africa, by Spaniards). Also a quite amazing series of bulletins in the nature of press releases to be put into local papers, that the Dirección de Marruecos y las Colonias put in regularly over the years 1954-55 at least, informing "all Muslims resident in Spain and especially those in the Moroccan territories" of when Eid-el-Kebir and Eid-el-Maulud were starting, and the dates for Ramadan and similar. I can't tell exactly why the colonial authorities would have been doing this (presumably the local people knew better than they did, and there are all kinds of Catholic religious services mentioned for the Día de África too), but the best I can come up with is that they really wanted to rub it in the noses of the French, who in the fifties were still right next door. The words of El Intermedio's "Unidos Para Siempre" parody come to mind once again: "Sí, España es plurinacional./Diversa y hasta un poco - disfuncional/pero al menos no es Francia."
I'm not quite sure how or if these fun facts will fit into my dissertation, though they are fascinating, and would be of interest if any of the authors I'm writing about were aware of them (which those who lived here and visited Morocco quite possibly were). Still nothing definite on Wright, but tomorrow I'm looking specifically at sección de turismo correspondence with corresponsales extranjeros, so fingers crossed.
It is now late, and I have to get up early to catch a train to Alcalá, so I'll sign off, and simply say that it's been lovely warm spring weather here, and that I get to enjoy the forty minute ride to Alcalá from Atocha going through countryside which is much greener than I associate with this part of the world. In Springtime things actually are green here. And the cutouts that the train rides through are not only grassy, but filled with wildflowers, dandelions, and red things that I can't make out from the windows, and there are cherry trees and lilacs and lindens in bloom everywhere, and the streets frequently smell sweet. Spring is nice, wherever it happens, and seems like even more of a miracle here in this dry land. Here's to finding directly relevant correspondence inspired by the good weather...and getting some time to get down to writing my chapter!
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