Morons of the Frontier: a morning in the hemeroteca

Sadly, yesterday's triumph was not repeated today.  But perhaps it's one day on, one day off...and there's still tomorrow.

I must say that the archivists of Seville are - individually and as a group - the most kind and helpful I have met.  Yesterday's nice people in the municipal historical archive suggested that if I was researching a journalist I might want to consider the hemeroteca, the collection of local periodicals one floor down, to see if she had written any articles.  It had never occurred to me that Peterson might have published while she was in Sevilla, but as most of her (few) published works are articles, that struck me as logical.  So this morning I presented myself at the hemeroteca after a quick stop in the provincial historical archive to check for her "certificado de buena conducta" which was fruitless ("was she arrested?" asked the friendly man in the white coat brightly.  "Because we have all the prison records from then."  He seemed distinctly less sure of her presence in the archives when I said she hadn't had brushes with the law.)  I looked quickly at the little exhibits in the provincial archive, about the flag of California (for not completely clear reasons) and the letters of nineteenth century novelist Juan de Valera, and also took their little flyer about "international archive day" which has the heading (in "Andaluz"):  ¿Pero qué eh Ud?  ¿Archivista?  Bueno, hay gente pa' to'o.  ("What're you?  An archivist?  Well, it takes all kinds.")  In a sweet attempt to democratize an archive which basically runs to prison records and state control, they also have a little poster saying that everyone has old photos and letters and so on, and that if you contribute them to the provincial archive they will be digitized so we can keep records of "our Sevilla" as it was for all, and another little form to take which you can fill out to make donations of photos or other personal papers.

Anyway, back to going around the corner and up the stairs to the hemeroteca.

In her own hand...a small victory in the archives

 

It took ten months, but I've finally located a primary source document written by one of my authors.

Greetings from Sevilla, where I arrived yesterday afternoon, after planning to visit multiple archives here since September.  Sevilla was the first port of call (in one case literally) for most of the authors I'm studying, and they tended to refer to it using terms like "the heart of Spain."  This is the Andalusian city par excellence, known for its flamenco, for its bougainvillea strewn terraces and balconies, its accent "muy cerrado" and its "color especial."  This is the city that ruled the "West Indies" and saw the expansion (and explosion) of the trans-Atlantic slave trade and got rich from the gold of the New World (and also poor since the Spanish imported so much they accidentally devalued the currency of half of Europe, because they didn't understand about absolute value vs. commodity fetish, but whatever).  This is the "Spanish" city which boasts the Roman ruins of Baetica, the (much restored and renovated) Moorish alcázar and the ramped Giralda, the minaret-cum-belltower with its spinning statue ("giraldilla" or little spinner), thought such an architectural wonder that allegedly the medieval conqueror of the city threatened to slaughter every single civilian Sevillano if the city's defenders tried to destroy it before surrendering.  (To their credit, they put the lives of their citizens above their religious principles, and allowed it to be defaced as a church tower.  It must have been tough on them though.)  In any case, Sevilla is the "heart of Spain," and every single one of my authors thought it was iconic.

I've never really liked it.

Partly that's because my heart has always belonged to Madrid, the much maligned mongrel of the high desert.  Partly that's because the first time I visited Sevilla, almost exactly twenty years ago, the city was unpleasantly split between super luxury tourism of the Bruges-Disney variety and really unpleasant poverty.  And partly just because I'm perverse, and hate falling for all the stereotypes about Spain.  But the archives beckoned, and I have to admit, after twenty four hours here, that it's really a very beautiful city, and that there has also clearly been some attempt at intelligent investment and development (and the presence of some normal stores like supermarkets and pharmacies and hardware stores as well as souvenir stores selling overpriced cachivaches).  And bright and early this morning I set out to visit the Municipal Historical Archive, on the trail of Dorothy Peterson that had led nowhere in Málaga in February.

Hugs and Handshakes all around

It's June, which means the school year is ending, and it's graduation season...and there are lots of award and end of year ceremonies that are similar.  Also the odd swearing-in.

On Friday, 1 June, I had not one but two semi-formal social commitments.  First of all, I was invited to attend the awards ceremony for the most outstanding Erasmus students at the Complutense, on the somewhat shaky grounds that I have been one of the substitutes for the English-language adviser this term, and one of the award winners was from University College London (though the young lady in question is actually French, and being an extremely good student had no need to talk to me for the entire semester anyway).  That was in the morning.  Second, in the evening, I was invited to an optional "end of year gathering" for Fulbrighters before the program officially ends in just two weeks time.

Given that the Fulbright and Erasmus programs have some common features (and some interesting differences), the two ceremonies had some interesting parallels and divergences.  All in all, both were nice affairs, which succumb to the human temptation to make formal milestones to mark endings of things, and indulge in a little benign self-congratulation.  Both involved hugs, promises to stay in touch, excellent tapas, and beer and wine for those participants who enjoy those things (and fanta and coke for me).  But given that they both happened to take place on the same day (and in fact almost literally at the same hour) as the PP government of Spain fell and the PSOE replaced them, and as the shaky Italian coalition took power with all the grace and finesse of what a car insurance ad here calls "a teenager who parallel parks by ear" the overwhelming presence of diplomats from no fewer than six different countries led to some amusing reflections.  The most important one of course being that most of the invited diplomats wisely took advantage of their prior engagement to deliver anodyne congratulations to a bunch of sweet young people to be unavailable for comment while governments dissolved and re-formed.  Like Macavity or Corporal Nobby Nobbs, they were distinctly not there when it came to dramatic events in Moncloa or in Rome, but in this hyper-connected age of checking smartphones, few of them were able to completely keep their concern about what the more tactful among them referred to as "challenging events in the world" from out of their remarks.

Feria de Libro - a low key Spring celebration

After the frenetic fiestas of the First and Second of May, and of San Isidro, Madrid's annual feria de libro seems restful

The Children's Tent at the Madrid Book Fair Shows its calendar of activities

A few days ago a friend alerted me that (unsurprisingly) my bookstore owning friend from Tres Cantos would be bringing her bookstore to one of the stalls at the Madrid feria de libro, which started on Friday and runs for the next two weeks.  She suggested we go say hi, which I thought was a good idea.  Then I realized that of course on the weekend another friend from outside of Madrid was most likely to be signing and presenting her new novel (she has a day job in Ponferrada, so during the week was unlikely).  After an exchange of texts, she confirmed that she was indeed signing Saturday evening from 7:00 to 9:00, and suggested that I stop by toward the end of her signing shift, so we could go have dinner afterward.

So yesterday evening I set out in the late afternoon sunshine and walked to the Retiro, since I hadn't really been out all day, and I wanted some exercise.  Just under an hour and a half brought me to the hordes of evening strollers in the Retiro, and as I wandered past the "Rosaleda" (formal rose garden) and along the crowded paths I saw large numbers of people heading back from the fair, and also a significant number heading towards it (along with a few overheard comments "Is this the right direction?"  "The sign said straight ahead."  "There are people with book fair bags coming from over there.")

Toying with history?

 

A walk last Sunday brought me to an unexpected anniversary commemoration...

After the excitement of San Isidro, and a few days of pleasant socializing with fellow wandering researchers, I had a quiet weekend last weekend, and stuck my nose out of doors on Saturday afternoon purely to go for a walk in order to get some exercise.  I did a walk that I normally enjoy, down through the Cuña Verde to Madrid Río, along the river to Marqués de Vadillo, and then up bustling Calle General Ricardos to contrast with the serenity of the park.  In the interests of doing something different, I thought I would stop into the Centro Comercial (aka mall) La Ermita, which sits along the Paseo Ermita del Santo (yes, that would be San Isidro again) and see what was happening on a Saturday afternoon, since malls tend to be lively.

Actually, the businesses were mostly closed on Saturday afternoon, except for the restaurants and the kids' bouncy castle and the bowling alley.  But walking through the doors of the Centro Comercial I was confronted with a large glass case, with what appeared to be a model of Eiffel Tower and a bunch of little Playmobil figures holding a demonstration.

A diorama, apparently for children, sandwiched in between Foster's Hollywood Restaurant (visible beyond the glass) and Burger King in the Centro Comercial Ermita del Santo

This struck me as odd.

San Isidro: cocido, churros y chocolate (part 3 of 3)

Eating and drinking are fundamental, not incidental to the Fiesta de San Isidro

Waiting on line for the free cocido madrileño in the Parque San Isidro on the Día de San Isidro

Ok, I promise this is the last entry about San Isidro, but it was two days of cool and intense activity, with lots of photos and videos, and many interesting things, and while I was originally planning to make yesterday's entry "chotis, chulapos, and churros" I realized that song, dance, and funny costumes deserved their own entry separate from food, drink, and picnicking (not to mention the fairground ride and fireworks).

Possibly because a friend and fellow researcher I've met here is writing a dissertation about food and politics in 1940s Spain, and possibly because of older research interests of my own, I couldn't help but notice how much importance food is given in the fiestas de San Isidro.  This is a city which has known hunger, and a fair number of the popular songs for San Isidro come close to "food porn."  I was initially impressed on Sunday afternoon in the Plaza de Vistillas that the song which got the audience up from their chairs and dancing (as well as singing along) was something which I initially, listening, thought was a love song, but which actually I would classify more as a "food song" called "Cocidito madrileño."  (A few hours later I mentioned to the friends I was with that there appeared to have been a song dedicated entirely to cocido, whereupon the two of them - mother and daughter, both Madrid-born - exchanged sheepish grins and began to sing "cooocidito madrileñooo...")  Picture an entire plaza full of people singing "porque eres gloria pura, porque eres gloria pura, cocidito madrileño!" in a spasm of civic pride and hungriness and you get a sense of the scene.

San Isidro: Chotis and Chulapos (Part 2 of 3)

 

¡Viva Madrid! ¡Viva San Isidro!

 

Or how an international city does a local party

 

There's a whole wonderful set of silly traditions around San Isidro.  And the best thing is that they're all unashamedly modern and cheerfully not purely "Spanish."  Just purely Madrid. 

San Isidro was canonized sometime in the seventeenth century when Spain's new capital city needed a local saint.  By the late eighteenth century, the sleepy backwater town had doubled and quadrupled in size into a capital city of a flailing empire with huge inequality and plenty of political problems, already about to be eclipsed, but still with a far-flung influence that stretched from Mexico to Manila to Milan...and of course back to Madrid.  By this time San Isidro was well ensconced in his hermitage, and the tradition of the verbena was a standard rite of Spring.  Goya captured the scene in 1788:

Goya's version of the Pradera de San Isidro.  All the buildings in the background are still there, and you can still see some of them.  But there are a lot more buildings blocking the river nowadays.  And a lot less river.

For comparison, here's a picture of the same place I two weeks ago.  Not as different as you'd think:

Note royal palace (Palacio de Oriente) in the distance on the left, and people sitting on grass, as in Goya's painting.