|
Ah, Torrevieja... Where to start? Less fortunate mortals than myself are
asking themselves that very question as I write. As for me, being older than
the famous Methuselah, and a time traveller to boot (invisible though we may
be, there are - surprisingly - still a few of us around) I daily count my
lucky stars. The drawbacks are unimportant here and don’t affect my present
quest, which is to take you on a journey backwards and forwards in time. So,
gird your loins, or fasten your seat-belts, and come with me, back to the
year 218 B.C…. Unfortunate timing, I’m afraid ... for we arrive in the middle
of a storm, and there’s a small portion of the Sahara Desert covering the
land where Torrevieja will one day stand! A column of foot-weary, and dusty
soldiers and their pack horses approach. At their head is Centurion Marcus.
(I’d clean forgotten how handsome he is). Ah, the sun is gradually breaking
through. See how Marcus’s body armour reflects the fiery sun-rays as he rides
his Barbary horse towards the Salinas, a scarlet and gold cloak - a vivid
gash against the blue sky - billowing behind him. He is off to claim his
salary of salt: sal, a common, if precious, payment for work well done, and
conquerors... Before they leave, one of the Romans will fall in love with a
Spanish girl and, until now, only she knew that the child she bore had Roman
blood in his veins.
It is common knowledge to historians and scholars, that Spain - after much
barbarism under the influence of the Phoenicians, Greeks, Carthaginians and
Romans - (I will spare you the bloody details) finally emerges to be
recognised as the most advanced of the provinces under the Romans. I became a
time traveller just before the Visigothic kings succeeded Rome’s domination,
so witnessed far too many tragedies. Understandably, I did much century
hopping when the Vandals were around... for much of the future was more
palatable. Not all though. Men seem to have a penchant for war. But, although
the colour red dominates time, I choose to look to the sky. More centuries
than I care to remember, pass. I even hibernated through one ... And then
Spain attains her most triumphant success -- that of expelling the Moors at
the end of the I5th century. Although, at times, very bloodthirsty, that
period was exciting, I can tell you, and the Moors left behind them an
admirable legacy of some wonderful architecture, intricate wood carvings,
colourful textile designs, outstanding tiles and other objects d’art. And
now, in modem language, fast-forwarding a few centuries, I again reveal the
past for you and present a very different, peaceful, scene... The year is
I767 and we find ourselves in a tiny fishing village called Torrevieja (Old
Tower). Seagulls scream and fight overhead under a Madonna blue sky, while
jealous cats skulk in the shadows, as brothers Jose and Manuel Rodriguez,
olive-skinned and tanned by a merciless sun , haul in their morning’s catch.
‘Hola! Que tal?’ they greet their fellow fishermen. Those ozone-fishy odours
are surely there to confuse our noses...
How shimmering-silvered is the Mediterranean sea! Many of the fishermen’s
relatives amongst the I06 families recorded, are connected, in one way or
another, with the Salinas: the salt lagoon - previously known as the Salinas
of Orihuela. Jose and Manuel’s nephew, Carlos - his Roman blood now well
diluted can be found caring for his goats near an olive grove a mile away -
the metallic clang of their neck-bells unmistakeable in the unsullied air. He
is happy enough for now, but ambition stirs within him. All would, doubtless,
be speechless with wonder, if they could see the Torrevieja of today. A more
affluent populace, variously sipping Cafe con leche, or something more
potent, on the forecourt of the Casino, watching a more cosmopolitan scene
unfold before them; working in gleaming, glass-fronted, high-rise offices.
sun-bathing on state of the art yachts; or still harvesting and shipping the
salt they were familiar with. How magical the festoons of street-lights they
would think, how splendid the magnificent fiestas! How novel the motor car;
how richer the cuisine. How their ears would be confused with so many
different languages...
But I move too quickly ... Let’s again hover in the past. Ten years after
Jose and Manuel first fished the sea, work begins on a small wharf and salt
storehouse near Torrevieja (Eras de la Sal). Segregated from Orihuela by
royal decree, there are around 400 souls living in a separate municipal
district. But populations tend to grow, and Torrevieja’s is no exception. At
the end of the eighteenth century, King Carlos IV decrees that the Salinas salt
works offices move from La Mata to Torrevieja, and plans are later drawn up
for the building of a new town, next to the existing one. Many new homes are
needed, for the town’s population has swollen to I,500. Torrevieja is buzzing
with industry, so much so that the first commercial wharf is constructed.
It has two names: “Minguez” and “Turbio”. Modest fishing boats and majestic
sailing ships, jostling for space, are a familiar sight to Torreviejans, and
pungent aromas drift up from the holds of many vessels as exotic spices are
unloaded onto the quayside. Important, too, for providing work for some of
the town’s citizens, is the building of around 250 ships, in sight of the
Casino. You may find it interesting to know that two of the ships are to be
used in forthcoming films: ‘The Onedin Line’ and ‘Treasure Island’ This
period in our local history is quite pleasing, for there is much optimism in
the air. And now I must rest, for the weight of the centuries is bearing down
on me. Sometimes, so many years’ odours, sights and sounds mingle and become
suffocating, almost overwhelming.
I am refreshed, so let’s pay another visit to Jose and Manuel ... Now
relatively old by the day’s standards, they are able to work less hours,
while their sons fish in better built boats. Playing cards in the shade of an
aged fig tree, they slake their thirsts and wash down their tapas with
tankards of amber cerveza and watch, approvingly, as their well-fed
grand-children play in dappled sunlight. Nephew Carlos has said adios to his
goat-herd, is now attired in a becoming suit, and adjusting to working in an
office. In later years, proud, neat and tidy, Jose and Manuel’s descendants
would regularly promenade in sight of the sea every Sunday, after Mass, at
the church of the Inmaculada Concepcion, and celebrate fiestas with
enthusiasm.
But now it is March 2I, I829 - the beginning of the Spring equinox. Earlier,
the sky was calm, the atmosphere clear. However, around lunch-time, there is
a slight tremor and I again feel a great sense of foreboding, for there have
been over 70 worrying days and nights of seismic activity in the area of
late. Suddenly the wind drops, the sky becomes overcast and there is an
uneasy calm over all. My palms are damp, my throat dry. I do not want to re-experience
the inevitable.... I am fearful as the earth begins to tremble and, inside
Carlos’s villa, plates fall and smash on the tiled floor. Then, a huge tremor
wreaks havoc where it strikes: in Torrevieja and all the towns and villages
in the Vega Baja. In a little over five seconds, 32 people perish, along with
36 animals, and 67 people are injured. As in many other households, tragedy
descends on the Rodriguez family, for Carlos’s wife, Maria, is making paella
in her kitchen when the roof collapses on her. Fortunately, Carlos is out in
the open with his two sons. All three survive. Uncle Jose - by now a bent old
gentleman - is still asleep when the earthquake strikes, a sleep from which
he will never awake. I am again overcome with sadness, especially for Maria,
who was so full of life. As most of the survivors are now homeless, the
reconstruction of the decimated town is ordered by King Fernando VII.
And so, after a while, life gradually returns to normal. Paco, one of
Carlos’s two sons, prospers. They say that his brain is ‘grande’. He studies
and becomes a rich lawyer, has a beautiful villa built on a small hillock
near the town. ( I drift through its many rooms, marvelling at its
splendour). Tragically, younger son, Joaquin: winsome character and fisherman,
drowns at sea during a storm.
Forgive me if I pause for a while. Even time travellers get out of breath
occasionally. Think I’ll have a siesta.... Goodness, 2004? It can’t be. This
dashing through time gets very confusing. Think I’ll stay awhile and have a
stroll around. What have they done to the Casino? It’s had another face-lift.
Very nice too. I admit to a fondness for it. It’s an amazing building -
incredible that it survived the earthquake. It was designed in ‘Fin de
Siecle’ style by the architect Aznar when it was rebuilt in I896. The “Casino
Numancia” was formed some thirty years earlier, and it became the “Sociedad
Cultural Casino de Torrevieja” in I882. What scenes have been played out in
the historic building: Art Exhibitions, Concerts, Balls, et al. Once more...
it’s the turn of the I9th century and I do believe that there’s a Ball in
progress. See that raven-haired young lady in the beautiful scarlet taffeta
crinoline waltzing with that distinguished gentlemen? That’s Inma Rodriguez -
direct descendant of Manuel. Oh, a Strauss waltz - da.da.da.da.da.da.da.da
da. How lovely. It brings a tear to my eye, which is surprising. I thought
that well dry as dust.
Another heart-warming occasion - believe me, you can do without seeing the
treachery, senseless killings and mayhem which have occurred down the
centuries - is the inauguration of the railway line from Torrevieja to
Albalera in I882. Let’s visit... What a grand, noisy affair! Look, there’s
the imposing figure of the Head of Government: Antonio Canovas de Castillo,
waiting to make his speech. Those bands will have to quieten down a bit,
that’s for sure. I don’t believe it ... there’s Carmen Rodriguez, another
member of the ‘clan’. Doesn’t she look pretty in her white organdie dress
with matching parasol! When Torrevieja’s first football ground opens in I920,
Carmen will take great delight in watching her grandson play there.
Hold tight ... forward we go ... to the year I975. So many flags and bunting,
and the sound of trumpets? Is my memory failing me? Oh, of course! General
Franco has died and Juan Carlos is proclaimed King. I can again feel cautious
optimism - with countless others I am sure that a democratic state will
succeed.
And now - back in 2004, after hovering over ‘pineapple’ palms; admiring the
colourful lantana and oleander, the ubiquitous bougainvillea... we’re in La
Plaza de la Constitucion: a delightful, verdant oasis of calm (well, at
present). Think I’ll linger... There’s a Welsh choir due to sing at the
Palacio de la Musica (excellent acoustics), not to mention a “Habaneras”-
melodious songs -competition to look forward to. (I must have some very
ancient ... Welsh blood mingling with the Spanish and Portuguese in my veins,
for I just adore Welsh choirs). And I’m very curious to see the new theatre
when its built.
Another reason for my wanting to meander here, is the ‘new spirit’ prevailing
in this bustling town . Oh, it is, thankfully, as Spanish as ever (may that
never change) but, where once many people from countries afar, came with evil
intent, nowadays, most foreign visitors and immigrants wish to integrate,
harmonise and come in peace., many to learn our language and our ways. Being
Spanish and a humanitarian, I welcome the well-meaning enthusiastically.
Also, a quick glance at the calendar, makes me realise how close we are to
Christmas. This fills me with an almost childish anticipation of all its
attendant pleasures, which is quite a surprise... How pretty the plaza always
looks adorned with poinsettias; how heart-warming the church service, the
singing, the lights; the amazing scenes in miniature from Christ’s early
days, and the colourful parade of ‘The Three Wise Kings.’ Despite its many
faults, I rather like this century.
Regrettably, I am unable to enlighten you as to the mysteries of being a time
traveller, for they are strictly secret. Suffice it to say that, one moment -
oh, so long, long ago I was bathing my feet in the warm sea, while my
husband, Fernando Rodriguez, and young son, Antonio, were picnicking nearby,
and the next, I was spirited away. They mourned me as drowned. They shed many
tears, as did I. However, I was blessed to see my husband and son prosper.
And now? I am putting in a fervent request (in triplicate) for retirement,
for I feel the strong heart-beat of Torrevieja here in the plaza. It augurs
well for the future. A future filled with imaginative plans, hope and
optimism. Yes, I reckon Torrevieja is well worth its salt.
|