Tallahassee, Florida

The Spanish explore Juan Ponce de León first arrived in Florida in 1513. To put this into perspective, only twenty-one years had passed since Columbus's first explorations in the Caribbean, and Cortés wouldn't arrive in Mexico for another six years. Hispanic presence there goes back as far in history as it does almost anywhere in the New World. 

Despite Florida Governor Rick Scott's rather puzzling comments about Florida not needing anthropologists, the state's museums and historical sites are actively preparing for next year's commemoration of 500 years of European contact. It is therefore an exciting time to visit Florida, as I found out on my recent trip to Tallahassee.

Part of the value of visiting in person areas associated with early Spanish exploration is the opportunity to imagine the hardships that they would have faced without modern technology--namely, air conditioning. Inland Florida is characterized by hot sun, humidity, and swamps. A good place to experience these conditions is to visit Wakulla Springs State Park just outside of town. Here you can observe up close and personal the flora and fauna that these strangers from the Mediterranean would have stumbled across and, if they were lucky, lived to write home about. For example, in an hour-long boat tour of the springs, I spotted at least a dozen healthy alligators like this one:

I would hate to have been the first conquistador assigned to fetch water!

Also at Wakulla Springs, there is a tree that is 500 years old. It was exciting to think that Ponce de León or Hernando de Soto may have seen this same tree when it was just a sapling:

Somewhat less imagination is required to see what life was like in Spanish Florida when you visit Mission San Luis, just a few blocks from Florida State University. This state-run site has been restored using the living history model, so don't be surprised if you run across young Spanish maids working on their chores:

There are also, among other things, blacksmith demonstrations:

The purpose of the original mission was to evangelize the native Apalachee population, so a replica of their lodge is a prominent features in the restored mission site:

Next on the tour is a replica of a typical seventeenth-century Spanish colonial home:

Beyond the house is the fort built to protect the mission:

Next is this rustic chapel:

When you're ready for an air conditioning break, there is an indoor museum/visitor's center that includes a movie theater and exhibits on Florida archaeology and colonial art.

The Mission San Luis restoration is apparently a very recent project, although not as recent as the newly completed Forever Changed: La Florida, 1513–1821 at the Museum of Florida History. This excellent  exhibit features a replica of a Spanish ship where visitors can learn about sixteenth-century navigation techniques and other aspects of life aboard:

I was able to see an immense amount of history and culture in just two days in Tallahassee. In order to process, study, and make available this rich heritage to the public, I'd say that Florida definitely needs anthropologists.

Almagro

There are certain places that everyone should see in Spain. The Alhambra is obviously one of them. So are Toledo, El Escorial, Segovia, and many others. A name that you wouldn't normally see on a list of must-see places, however, is Almagro. My guidebook only dedicates about a page to this small town in Castilla-La Mancha, near Ciudad Real. It doesn't appear on many itineraries. So why did my wife and I spend one of our precious few weekends there last summer when we were in Spain? It's all because of some seventeenth-century ruins discovered there during a construction project in the 1950s.

During Spain's Golden Age (1500-1700), theater became the dominant form of entertainment. At first, itinerant actors performed on temporary stages set up in plazas. People lucky enough to live next to these plazas could either watch the performances for free or rent out their balconies. With time, this arrangement became more permanent, as theater companies enclosed the plazas and built permanent stages and seating. The neighbors still had the option of watching from their balconies or renting them out. This more permanent type of the theater space was called a corral de comedias, and soon every major town and city in Spain had one. Unfortunately, they were largely constructed of wood. When eighteenth-century moralists and arbiters of "good taste" drove the theater companies out of business, no one thought to preserve these basically makeshift theaters. Some, like the Corral del Príncipe in Madrid, were simply replaced with more modern, Italian-style theaters. Most were torn down or left to decay. The one in Almagro was adapted as an inn, and later built over until it fell into oblivion. Its ruins were discovered in the twentieth century. Fortunately, the people of Almagro had the foresight to restore it to its former splendor. Here is a view of the stage:

Except for the stage lights, it is quite authentic. Seventeenth-century stages didn't have a curtain, but actors could make use of the discovery space at the back of the stage and balcony above it. It was deeply moving for me to be able to stand in the kind of space for which playwrights like Lope de Vega, Tirso de Molina, and Pedro Calderón de la Barca wrote their works.

Seventeenth-century seating arrangements were as stratified as the society as whole, as can be seen in this picture taken from the stage:

The groundlings (mosqueteros) stood on the sides near the stage, while the somewhat more affluent paid to sit in the center. Regardless of wealth, however, no women were allowed on the ground floor. They had to enter by a separate door leading directly to the balcony, known as the cazuela (stewpot). Men were prohibited from entering this area, but occasionally an adventurous youth would cross-dress in order to have the opportunity to whisper into his beloved's ear during a play.

As mentioned above, corrales were generally built between existing buildings, so often the only seating on the sides was available from the balconies of private residences. Sometimes, however, there were side balconies built specifically for theater seating, as in Almagro. This area was known as the desván. It is where dignitaries, clerics, and critics sat:

This restored corral is used today as a working theater, and is the primary venue for the Almagro International Classical Theater Festival held each summer. It is therefore fitting that Spain's National Theater Museum is also located in Almagro. Although photographs were not permitted inside the museum, I was able to take pictures of some of the stage equipment on display in the theater's courtyard. Here is a machine used for simulating battle or storm sounds:

Here is a mechanical waterfall:

Theater is obviously central to Almagro's tourist industry, but I am glad that it brought me there. It is a truly beautiful and peaceful little town worth visiting anyway.

As we arrived into town, I overheard the taxi driver receive a radio message from a friend inviting him to lunch. The driver explained that he couldn't because he was in Almagro, to which the friend exclaimed how jealous he was that he wasn't there to see that beautiful little plaza. I can say that having our evening tapas in that plaza was among our most pleasurable experiences in Spain. 

Granada-a 9/11 postscript

I started working on the Granada post a few weeks ago, but the demands of work, church, and family prevented me from spending more than a few minutes at a time on it. Since I hadn't touched it since last weekend, I had nearly forgotten about it. Then, today, as I sat at home from church with two pink-eyed children, I suddenly remembered to polish and publish that Granada post that I had been sitting on for so long.

Feeling very pleased with myself at having accomplished something, I proudly posted it on Facebook so that my three readers could be reminded that I indeed have a blog. As I did so, I noticed other people's comments about where they were ten years ago today when they heard about the terrorist attacks of September 11. I of course cannot forget that day. I was a student at Utah State University, and watched as events unfolded on a the screen at the front of the auditorium while I waited for my Integrated Science class to begin. As these memories came back to me today, so did the mix of emotions that I felt then: grief, anger, patriotism, and confusion.

Suddenly my two trains of thought for the day collided. I had just published a blog post exalting Islamic art and berating the Western world for its colonial attitude towards other cultures. Would someone reading my post take some unintended offense at this on a day like today? Should they be offended? Would it be better to take the post down and wait a few days?

I believe that the answer is no. In fact, I think that today is a particularly important day to reflect on the glories of Muslim Spain. Here is why.

The Alhambra is a physical reminder of a civilization that once filled most of the Iberian Peninsula, a caliphate known as Al-Andalus that was as much part of the Muslim world as Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and Iran are today. While the rest of Europe languished in what are now known as the Dark Ages, the scholars of Al-Andalus were rediscovering the science, philosophy, and literature of classical Greece and Rome. They built magnificent libraries and palaces, and their engineering projects continue to marvel us. The most amazing aspect of their civilization, however, is that they found a way for Muslims, Jews, and Christians to live together. It would be naive to assert that this was a perfect convivencia ("living-togetherness"), but the fact is that, while Muslims certainly dominated society, churches and synagogues received special protection, and mutual respect existed between the three great religions of the book. Some people converted to other religions, but most were able to share in the best characteristics of the other cultures without giving up their own beliefs or identity. They studied one another's languages. Jews and Christians served as advisers and even viziers to Muslim political leaders. Muslim poets delighted in Christian folk songs and incorporated them into their own compositions. Churches and synagogues from the era display the horse-shoe arches and exquisite decoration typical of mosques.

I am not aware of any other society where the three faiths have co-existed quite so well, but it makes me exceedingly proud of my country to think that our democratic system makes convivencia possible as long as "We the People" are willing to work to make it happen. Reflection on our history during the twentieth century, while in some ways disheartening because of certain ill-advised decisions and attitudes, is also inspiring because of the rapid progress that has been made towards a more inclusive society.

If Al-Andalus had so many good things going for it, what happened to turn Spain into a mono-religious society where an institution as horrific as the Inquisition could flourish? What happened to cause a strict devision between Christians and Muslims in the Mediterranean and, eventually, the entire world? Obvious there were many complex historical factors involved, but I believe that at the heart of it all was the emergence of a radical "us-versus-them" attitude on both sides. Christian kingdoms in the north of the Peninsula, inspired by the Pope's call to the Crusades, decided to wage their own Crusade in Spain. The Almohades and Almorávides, Muslim extremists from North Africa, decided that their Iberian coreligionists had become lax in their devotion, and invaded the Peninsula in order enforce a greater adherence to Islam. The best way to accomplish this was to unite them against a common enemy, the Christians. Convivencia crumbled. The only safe place was among one's own kind.

I can't claim to fully understand the motives of the criminals who orchestrated and carried out the September 11 attacks, but my sense is to categorize them with the Almohades, Almorávides, Crusaders, and other extremists. I believe that they have almost nothing in common with the Muslims who created the brilliant monuments of Al-Andalus. I think that they observed efforts in the Western world to create the sort of convivencia that was starting to characterize Al-Andalus, and saw that as a threat to the "us-versus-them" attitude upon which extremism thrives. They wanted the Muslim world, which they perceived as having become lax in their devotion, to unite against a common enemy, and therefore needed to provoke that enemy. Their goal was for us to invade Muslim countries. They wanted us to discriminate against our Muslim neighbors. They hoped we would reject every good thing about Islamic culture. They needed us to forget Al-Andalus.

Like most Americans, today I will think about the victims of the 9/11 attacks. I will feel a wave of patriotism come over me each time I see an American flag. I will shed a tear of admiration for the sacrifices of the people who served and continue to serve as firefighters, police, and military personal. But I will also strengthen my resolve to defeat extremism through tolerance and cooperation. And I will proudly tell the world about the glories of Al-Andalus.

Granada

This will be the first of several posts about Spain, where I got to spend a month this summer leading a study abroad program. While I was there, I wondered about the appropriateness of  writing about the colonizer in a blog dedicated to its colonial legacy. Then I strolled through the National Archaeology Museum in Madrid. It is set up in chronological order, starting with early pre-history, moving to Celtiberian tools and art, giving way to the remains of Greek, Roman, Visigothic, Moorish civilizations. I also toured towns like Toledo and Granada, where mosques and synagogues have been converted into Christian churches, just like some Aztec and Inca temples in the New World. It occurred to me that Spain's history is fundamentally about waves of conquest and colonization. Modern Spaniards are only the most recent colonizers of the Iberian peninsula, and they did it at basically the same time that they colonized the Americas. Few places reveal this process better than the last Moorish stronghold to fall to Christian forces: Granada.

Granada in many ways fits the Romanticized view of Spain: mountains, sunshine, and whitewashed buildings with red-tile roofs.

Granada is home to the most visited tourist site in all of Europe: La Alhambra. If Granada was the last Moorish kingdom in Spain, the Alhambra was its stronghold. Although it fell into neglect for many centuries, Irving Washington's Tales of the Alhambra in the nineteenth century led to efforts to restore and preserve it. Today it is one of the most beautiful places on earth.

The park where the Alhambra is located actually contains two sites, the Alhambra proper and the Generalife, a gorgeous palace and garden complex. Here is a panoramic view of the Generalife.

 

The immense gardens in front of the Generalife form a maze that is worth getting lost in. 

The palace contains some of the most ornate examples of Moorish decorative art, based primarily on calligraphy and geometric patterns.

It also where you start to get a sense of the importance of water in the Alhambra. Since Islam began in the Arabian Peninsula, water is essential to its concept of Heaven, and the Alhambra is meant to be an approximation of Heaven. Here is a staircase with cold water running in the handrail.

One of the most iconic views of the Alhambra proper can be seen from the Generalife. For a Spanish professor, the medieval ballad "Abenámar y el rey don Juan" immediately comes to mind. In it, King John marvels at the red towers and metaphorically proposes marriage to Granada. The city speaks back, politely declining the proposal because of how well her Moorish husband treats her.

Getting there from the Generalife is a matter of crossing a bridge. Parts of the Alhambra have been left unrestored.

Other parts are reminders of the fact that the Moorish kingdoms in the peninsula were being colonized at precisely the same time that the New World was. For example, here is a Christian church built right in the middle of the last Moorish stronghold.

Next to it is Carlos V's palace, one of the most outstanding examples of Spanish Renaissance architecture. It is elegant and imposing, and would have been one of my favorite buildings in Spain if it stood anywhere else. Normally for me everything related to the Renaissance represents optimism and faith in humanity. The fact that this palace is in the middle of the Alhambra, however, makes it seem awkward. Its austere style clashes with the florid design of Moorish buildings, making it symbolize instead the arrogance of the conqueror.

Fortunately, Carlos V kept his hands off some of the most stunning parts of the Alhambra, including the alcazaba, or citadel, perched on the edge of the hill standing guard. It's easy to see how Granada was able to hold out against Christian invaders for so long.

Here is a view from inside the citadel.

And here is the view of the modern city of Granada from one of its towers. The dome in the middle of the photograph is the cathedral, which Carlos V began building in the sixteenth century, and it wasn't completed until the eighteenth century.

The gem of the whole complex is the Nasrid palace. In fact, when you buy your tickets for the Alhambra, you have sign up for a time slot to see the Nasrid palace, and they do not let you into it at any other time. It's worth the hassle, though. It has some of the most exquisite examples of Islamic art in the world.

In a way, the Nasrid palace encapsulates the motifs that characterize the entire Alhambra. Certainly water is as important here as anywhere in the complex.

The most emblematic monument in the Nasrid palace (and the Alhambra as a whole) is the Patio of Lions. As Murphy's Law would have it, the lions were undergoing restoration during my visit. This is all there is to see in the patio right now (although the lions are on display indoors--where photography is prohibited).

Disappointed as I was, the bright side is that it gives me an excuse to go back!

Natchitoches, Louisiana

A little known fact is that one of the original capitals of Texas was not in Texas, at least in the part that now falls within that state's political borders. Los Adaes, a mission located near Natchitoches, Louisiana, was the Spanish provincial capital of Texas from 1729-1770. As with many of Spain's efforts at settling areas north of the Rio Grande, the establishment of this mission was motivated by French encroachment. I passed by the state park where Los Adaes is located almost two years ago on my way to the Alligator Park, and made a mental note to return later and tour the mission. Memorial Day provided that opportunity, so I packed the car with lots of water and sunscreen and headed east.

Unfortunately, state parks, at least the ones that protect historical sites, were not a high priority for the Louisiana government when the Great Recession forced budget cuts, so Los Adaes is now open by appointment only. I knew this before going, but what I didn't realize was that appointments are only made for groups of at least ten. So I had to settle for a photograph from outside of the gate this time:

Fortunately, we were near Natchitoches, where it is easy for history buffs to find a plan B, C, and D. Natchitoches (pronounced "Nackadish") is Nacogdoches' sister city. Both are about equidistant from the Texas-Louisiana border, both have a university, and both are rich in history. Natchitoches, however, seems to have done a much better job of preserving and capitalizing on its colonial past. Whereas in Nacogdoches an Auto Zone stands on the site of the original mission, and very little in the architecture is reminiscent of its Spanish past, Natchitoches' French heritage is everywhere to be seen:

An example of this is the replica of Fort St. Jean Baptiste, located near the historic downtown. The museum is small but informative, although I think they could use a less constipated-looking mannikin:

The main attraction is the replica itself, which effectively recreates the eighteenth-century fort. It is a short walk from the museum. Here it is at first glimpse:

Notice the small garden plots to the left of the path. It was at about this point that we heard a musket shot that one of the historical interpreters was demonstrating for a tour group. The fort becomes more impressive as you approach it.

And what fort would be complete without a cannon?

Here is the chapel:

And here is a close-up of its weathervane in the shape of a rooster, the symbol of the French people:

Apparently they often do cooking demonstrations in the outdoor oven:

They also reconstructed the barracks, officers' quarters, and other buildings as they would have looked in the eighteenth century:

Here is the interior of the store or commissary. The black fur is bear, the brown is buffalo, and the tan is deer.

Here is a selection of sabot (wooden shoes), which were the footwear of choice throughout Europe before the Dutch appropriated them as their national shoe.

Notice the French word for water, "eau."

I assume that this dining room belonged to the commandant or other high-ranking official:

Fort St. Jean Baptiste is more than just a plan B when it comes to exploring Spanish colonial history in the area. As I mentioned above, the Spaniards were often motivated to establish missions and other settlements out of fear of French incursion, so it is no wonder that Los Adaes is less than twenty miles from St. Jean Baptiste. Although their nations were rivals, the two outposts often engaged in illegal trade with one another and established a good working relationship. One of St. Jean Baptiste's commandants was Louis Juchereau de St. Denis, who explored East Texas and even married the daughter of a Spanish official in Mexico. 

Natchitoches is also worth visiting for other reasons. The Cane River Trail includes several Creole plantations, including the one where Kate Chopin lived (although unfortunately her home has recently burned down). Steel Magnolias was apparently filmed in the area. Although the climate is a little hot and humid for humans, it's perfect for some beautiful gardens:

I plan to go back again when the weather cools.