Coast of Hyraxes

Hello All!  

I say “all” optimistically of course, but I suppose that is the liberty of blogging.  While I’m sure I probably could see how many folks have peeked at my maunderings, it’s far more pleasant just to imagine…

So, another interesting week here in Hispania Ulterior.  That was the name of this region under the Roman Republic and, if Wikipedia is to be believed, the name “Hispania” is derived from the Phoenician word for “coast of hyraxes” – as the Phoenicians apparently misidentified the many rabbits of coastal Andalusia as hyraxes with which they were familiar.

Rabbit.  You probably know that unless you're Phoenician

Hyrax. 

  I’ve appended a couple of pictures for comparison.  I don’t know.  Perhaps Phoenician wine was pretty strong.  I must add that “Coast of Hyraxes” would be an excellent name for a punk band.

Weather has been pleasant in the main.  The mid-afternoons have been quite warm, but the mornings and evenings have been gorgeous.   The blue of Andalusian morning skies is quite striking, and perhaps more so when seen against the almost aquamarine bay of Cádiz.  The clouds this week have been lovely high wispy cirrus, sometimes resembling delicate calligraphy.  The fauna count continues to increase.  Charlie and I surprised a small family of red legged partridge on a morning walk through one of the deserted pine forested areas of the base, and on my way to the hospital this morning I saw a smaller raptor - a falcon of some sort - being harassed by an irate group of swifts.  It was quite the display of avian aerobatics.  This area is also home to the Mediterranean chameleon (the only European member of the family) and the base is said to be a common habitat for them.  I haven’t seen one yet…but of course it’s a chameleon, so I wouldn’t, would I?  I’ll let you know how the hunt goes.

So, I took some time yesterday to walk around the town of Rota, and thought I would share a little of that experience with you.  I'll preface by saying that I was a bit worried that Rota would turn out to be a "military town" - the Spanish version of that agglomeration of pubs, used car dealers, payday loan shops and tattoo parlors that accretes outside military bases the world over.  I'm happy to say that at first blush this is not the case here.  It is certainly true that you are able to get by in English and rudimentary Spanish  a bit more easily here than you might 30 miles inland, and that there are more restaurants that are open an a decidedly un-Andalusian 7pm as well, but the core of the old town seems to be not so much affected.  I expect that some of this reflects Los Roteñas themselves, and the rest reflects the Spanish tourist economy.  As German, British, Belgian, French and Spanish tourists flood the Mediterranean  and Southern Atlantic coats each summer, the beach community folk have had to adapt their lives around the different argots and rhythms of visitors of all descriptions.  Perhaps the Americans from the base are just seen as more persistent guests; to be accommodated where necessary, indulged where possible, and tolerated as needed.  That is the most preliminary of observations however, little encumbered by actual fact, and should be treated as such.  I hope to have more to say on the topic in a couple of years.

And of course there is the incalculable effect of sheer ancientness.  Rota has archeological roots that go back at least to the Bronze age.  It is the likely site of the settlement of Astaroth - an outpost of the Tartesian empire, and it is probable that the current city was founded by the bunny-challenged Phoenicians around the same time as Cádiz, across  the bay.  1100 B.C.E. for those of you keeping score at home.  To the Romans after the Second Punic War, it was Speculum Rotae, which translates as best I can tell to "Mirror wheels".  A lighthouse maybe?  An early unreleased Paul McCartney album? When the Moors took the town in the 8th century, the named changed to Rabita Rutta -  the watchtower of Rota - and it is from this title that the town took its current on the Spanish reconquest.  So, yeah, the folks here have seen a few militaries come and go.

I walked off-base from the Rota gate in the late morning on Saturday.  The direct sun was warm, but the sea breeze made the stroll a pleasant one.  I paused outside the gate to spend a while watching the storks on their improbable appearing nest, and then continued down the street.  Like a lot of older 

Nesting storks outside the Rota Gate

towns, Rota gets more ancient and more charming as you approach the historic heart of the city.  The more recent construction, nearest the base and the highway, is the same sort of drab cement construction that surrounds the towns of Sicily and the Italian Mezzogiorno.  But as I pressed on, the streets grew narrower, the roads changed to cobblestone, and the buildings lining them took on a more conventionally Spanish appearance.  I happened upon a well dressed crowd outside the door of a parish hall (and a well dressed Spaniard is very well dressed indeed), and as I perdóname'd my way through, a bridal party made their way out into the sunlight and were cheered into a waiting antique open car, which chugged off through the narrow streets.  Of interest, not only do the Spanish throw rice at weddings, but it's medium grain rice - suitable for paella.

Streets of Rota. From the blog "Setsail.com"

I strolled on, the treble honking of the antique car horn echoing off the walls of buildings and fading very slowly away.  The city fronts on a elbow shaped bit of land, right where the coastline turn from south to east facing, with golden sand playas bracketing either side of the small port. Standing on the Paseo Maritimo at the apex of the angle one looks east to the Navy Base (which has a pretty nice stretch of beach itself), and West as far as the eye can see.  The promenade goes westering on for miles, and past the old walls of the city is lined by hotels and beach front apartments.  I had left the gate about 1100 and it was now near noon, with the sun growing in intensity.  I headed through a gate in the honey covered sandstone wall and back into the old town.  Perhaps the prettiest and most iconic plaza in Rota is the one framed by the Castillo de la Luna, a 13th century castle built on a Moorish foundation, and the Iglesia de Nuestra Señora de la O, a 16th century church with a roughly gothic style.  

They are both of the same honey colored sandstone that gives the city wall its warm hue. Best explanation I can give of the "O", I found in the Catholic encyclopedia, and I offer it here:

"The feast of 18 December was commonly called, even in the liturgical books, “S. Maria de la O“, because on that day the clerics in the choir after Vespers used to utter a loud and protracted “O”, to express the longing of the universe for the coming of the Redeemer (Tamayo, Mart. Hisp., VI, 485). The Roman “O” antiphons have nothing to do with this term, because they are unknown in the Mozarabic Rite. This feast and its octave were very popular in Spain, where the people still call it “Nuestra Señora de la O“."

I shall have to make a particular point of attending services on December 18th, obviously!

Wandering on from the plaza, I meandered through the maze of curving and intersecting streets.  When we lived in Sicily, it was often said that villages with intricate maze-like streets had been built that way apurpose by Muslim occupiers of the 8th and 9th century to make the towns easier to defend.  I haven't heard that said anywhere here in Spain, but these are early days.  The streets cleared as the sun reached a zenith, and on many of them I wandered alone.  I was fascinated to note that the white washed houses that seem to crowd the lanes so very often had ornate doors of wood and wrought iron and that these doors were almost always open.  The effect of the brilliant sun and the white walls is to make the view into these interiors an inky black, but in many cases the light of inner courtyards can be seen, and whole unsuspected interior space opens up, with glimpses of colorful tile, fountains, and flowers cascading out of planters.  Often town folk sat at their ease in the darkened breezeway between street and courtyard and solemnly contemplated the curious passerby.  It had the feel of a stolen glimpse into the secret heart of a city's life and all sorts of other dreadful metaphors occurred to me.  Gentle reader, I shall spare you those.  Pithy they were.

My last stop en route back out of town was at the Mercado Central de Rota, a public Market established around the cloister yard of the former covent of the Merced, with a lovely external tower, and a two story arcaded central courtyard.  I didn't stop for fish, or meat or olives, but all were on display and I shall have to return with money and shopping bags.

Mercado Central de Rota - Destino Cádiz - Source: Texts and Photos: Ayuntamiento de Rota.

And home I went.  Charlie needed letting out, and a dozen minor chores called out for attention.  As it turned out I drove back into town later that evening (and those charming narrow winding streets seem a good deal less charming when you're trying to maneuver 3000 pounds of balky Citröen through them).  This time it was to attend a "ronque" - the carving of a great 500 pound ocean tuna, in celebration of Rota's vanished past as a major fishing port.  I shall beg your indulgence and not describe it in this episode both because it was not so interesting as I had hoped, and because I still have washing up and house cleaning to do.  Wife and son and Basenji arrive tomorrow, and I hope to have the little house triced up and in apple pie order.  Pie de manzana order, in case you were wondering.

Until the next, then.