La Gloria para El Mejor

Spanish flag

Such was the headline at the El Pais website this morning.

There can be little doubt that Spain was consistently the best team on the field in Euro 2008, playing their entertaining brand of fútbol total.

In a thrilling climax to a tournament full of surprises - exciting turns from Russia and Croatia, spectacular deadline management from Turkey, Germany actually reaching the final - the crowning Spanish success spelled the end of a forty four year drought of major championship titles.

Perhaps this is also a changing of the guard at the head of European football. Whilst Italy and Germany both looked stale, the Dutch failed to live up to early expectations and France, bof, il vaut mieux ne rien dire.

Better for football, better for Europe.

Andalusia

Illuminated by the sunlight of southernmost Spain are the last traces of a great state whose grandeur and importance seem disproportionate to its lack of prominence in European history.

Perhaps the footnote status of Al-Andalus is partly due to being sandwiched between Roman civilisation and the discovery of the “New” World. Still more likely is that this near-mythical tale of a golden era of Muslim rule might otherwise take the polish off the Catholic resurgence that brought about the former’s end.

The coming of the Ummayads

Andalusia

Inspired by the example of the prophet Muhammad, the Ummayad Caliphs rapidly expanded into territories far beyond their native Syria. In April 711, an Ummayad army under the command of Tariq ibn Ziyad landed at Gibraltar (”Rock of Tariq” = “Gibel al Tariq” = “Gibraltar”). Within eight years, the Ummayad army had taken possession of lands beyond the Pyrennees, after which its progress was finally checked.

There followed half a millenium of Muslim rule. It was a time of enlightenment, of civilised life and - to some extent at least - of cultural and religious tolerance.

However, the course of empire never runs smoothly, and whilst the Ummayads gained Al-Andalus, they would quickly lose every other territory in their power. A revolt by the rival Abbasid family unseated them from their Syrian seat in 750, leaving surviving exile Abd ar-Rahman I to fight his way to pre-eminence in Al-Andalus.

IMG_0354.jpg

Behind him, the Abbasids of Baghdad now planned his downfall from newly-won Africa, but the emboldened Ummayad routed the force sent to defeat him and planned to take Baghdad. Revolts preoccupied Abd ar-Rahman I and his plans were never realised. In later generations, the Ummayad Emirs and Caliphs of Córdoba sought to outdo Baghdad’s splendour instead.

From Córdoba to Granada

While Abd ar-Rahman I was concerned with consolidating the strength of the nascent Emirate at Córdoba, it would be a further two centuries before successor Abd ar-Rahman III could expand it. Swelled by victories against the Abbasids and Fatimids in North Africa, and in open defiance of a weakened Baghdad, he declared himself Caliph of Córdoba in 929.

The Caliphate dwarfed its neighbours, a collection of struggling, minor Catholic kingdoms, but spared by diplomacy and allowed to thrive on trade relations these kingdoms would not remain feeble for long. In the meantime, the threat of civil war had begun to loom over the Caliphate.

IMG_0366.jpg

In the early decades of the 11th century, the disastrous outcome of this internal strife was the division of the Caliphate’s lands into a series of smaller states, each of which were more manageable targets for the increasingly boisterous and ideologically united Christian crowns. To defend themselves, these taifa kingdoms turned to their Muslim neighbours in North Africa for assistance. Inevitably they paid with their sovereignty and the taifas were briefly reunited under Berber rule.

Despite initial successes, however, the Berber newcomers could not stem the tide of Spanish kingdoms that resented their presence. In a cataclysmic battle at Las Navas de Tolosa near Jaén, the kings of Castile, Aragon, Portugal and Navarre defeated the Caliph al-Nasir and the map of Al-Andalus began inexorably to shrink into the southeastern corner of the Iberian peninsula.

Dissent among the Spanish permitted the continuation of Muslim rule from 1232 under the Nasrid dynasty for another quarter of a millenium, albeit confined to Granada and its environs. Yet it was only a matter of time before the Christians would return. When the marriage of Ferdinand and Isabella (of Aragon and Castile respectively) effectively united Spain, for the Nasrids there was nowhere left to turn but the sea.

The new invasion

In the Middle Ages, the tracks and trails of Western Europe filled with pilgrims headed for Lourdes, Santiago de Compostela, Jerusalem and other holy sites. As Chaucer makes plain in The Canterbury Tales, it wasn’t long before the leisured and the curious swelled the ranks of the pious. These fakers were the original tourists and their dust had barely settled when the Grand Tourers and the Baedeker devotees followed on to discover the beaux arts of Europe.

In 1967, the Spanish peseta was devalued and the drop in cost of living drew people from all classes to seek their own stories of sun, sea, sand and sundries in the high-rise hotels of Benidorm and the Torremolinos. When the Costas filled with foul-mouthed, heavy drinking sunburners, the British seaside turned quiet, then desolate.

For some folks, two weeks in Lloret was never enough. And if we consider the history of humanity, where there is demand, there will be supply. So from Alpine ski slopes like bottled spring water gushed forth that peculiarly un-British form of contract known as “timeshare”. Poolside holidaymakers were encouraged by a limitless supply of slickback shirtsleeves fresh out of the Essex College of Selling to take the plunge. In they dived and their trunks of money would be embarassingly lost.

In the present era, we have the Internet and people prefer to go direct. To a British enclave, using a British estate agent abroad and the foreign limb of a British bank. Old habits die hard.

Andalusia today is cosmopolitan in a way that the Caliphs would never have imagined. Visitors to the ancient pueblos blancos of the high Alpujarras are just as likely to find an English academic grabbing a few days’ peace between Trinity and Michaelmas, or a retired German hikenut in precariously short shorts following the goat trails.

El Poniente Granadino

Reasonably distant from bent builders, crooked councillors and false profits is the Poniente Granadino, the last border of Al-Andalus, where steep slopes are occupied by rows of olive trees or higher up, by thick snow.

The Poniente borders the provinces of Córdoba, Málaga and Jaén and produces some of the world’s finest olive oil. J and I stayed in a small converted stable about ten miles north of Loja, near Ventorros de San José.

El Torcal

El Torcal is a nature reserve west of the Poniente and above the town of Antequera. It is one of Europe’s most outstanding examples of Karst topography.

There are three trails from which visitors can choose. J and I arrived relatively early on a very busy day. It was actually hard to leave the park with all the vehicles heading in.

Kika

Playing it for laughs: Kika
  • Director: Pedro Almodóvar
  • Spain, 1993
  • 3 stars out of 5

Déjà vu abounds in Kika, a brief return to the sort of hair-brained frivolity that characterised Women On The Verge Of A Nervous Breakdown. Parallels might also be drawn with Almodóvar’s ¡átame! (Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down!) (1990), another film in which the director treats a sexual attack on a woman with surprising humour.

At times, Kika comes across more music hall than movie, though the main plot manages to remain perfectly serious, similar in content to High Heels, as a son and his newly returned father divide up the affections of the eponymous make-up artist and the smell of murder gets increasingly strong as the father’s past unravels.

Verónica Forqué is an unusual but affable Almodóvar muse as Kika while craggy father figure Peter Coyote doesn’t quite fit in. Star turns come from the goofy-gorgeous Rossy de Palma as a yokel housemaid and Victoria Abril as an investigative journalist cum TV presenter, bravely sporting what must be one of cinema’s weirdest wardrobes.

Law of Desire (La Ley del Deseo)

Red or dead: Carmen Maura shines in Law of Desire
  • Director: Pedro Almodóvar
  • Spain, 1987
  • 3 stars out of 5

There’s much to like about the performances in Law of Desire. Eusebio Poncela plays a marvellously ambivalent, sexually ambiguous film director as his insouciance gives way to raw emotion while Carmen Maura takes well to her role as his gold-hearted, rough diamond sister.

But the real turn here is delivered by Antonio Banderas who, in portraying his second of three exemplary Almodóvar nutters, does a fine job of representing reckless jealousy with a worrying streak of sincerity.

So much for great acting, because the story holds about as much water as a bucket with a hole. Nevertheless, Almodóvar manages to plug it for a while at least and his treatment of similar themes - in 2004’s Bad Education - would prove more fruitful next time.

High Heels (Tacones Lejanos)

Gun shy: Victoria Abril in High Heels
  • Director: Pedro Almodóvar
  • Spain, 1991
  • 3 stars out of 5

The early 90s represent a busy, transitionary period for Almodóvar. And during that period, he takes on multiple muses having apparently fallen out with Carmen Maura. His two key players are Marisa Paredes and the delectable Victoria Abril, both of whom spring up here to lead this oddball of a movie.

Abril is a career-driven newsreader whose errant actress mother (Paredes) is back in town after years away. Abril has married an older man, who happens to be an old flame of Paredes. Classic Almodóvar, really.

And the films of his transitionary period can be a bit awkward - frivolity rubs up against more serious content in a typical riot of colour. Scenes between mother and daughter are superbly acted and these tend to cover up for other, weaker or more implausable moments.

La Flor de mi Secreto (the Flower of my Secret)

No need for hysterics: Marisa Paredes floods Spain in La Flor de mi Secreto
  • Director: Pedro Almodóvar
  • Spain, 1995
  • 3 stars out of 5

You get the very distinct sense when watching La Flor that Almodóvar is onto something. And so the maturity and virtuosity of his output has increased with each film ever since.

As a writer of great female parts, he’s blessed here with a strong performance from Marisa Paredes who as the protagonista Leo (and her nom de plume Amanda Gris) carries the story almost single-handedly.

Leo’s neurotic approach to love is a little hard to empathise with for this stoical anglosajón, but the film’s luminosity hints overtly at the great things to come. Indeed literally, for the plot of one of Gris’ trash novels would later become Volver.

Solas

María Galiana and Ana Fernández as mother and daughter in Solas
  • Director: Benito Zambrano
  • Spain, 1999
  • 4 stars out of 5

Ten minutes into Solas, I was steeling myself against the grim conclusion to which this film would inevitably descend. But I was wrongfooted by the virtuosity of the characters as they began to discover their own strengths.

Solas presents Spain without the colour of Almodovar, the mystery of Amenábar or the surrealism of Luna. It’s realism without the magic. Yet it’s also the very toughness of María that lends her unfailing appeal. The silence of María’s mother hides the latter’s incredible dignity. The needy old curmudgeon turns out to be a caring, determined gentleman. All the characters suffer, they have problems, they have idiosyncracies, but you can never write them off.

The realistic humanity of this film - in which small efforts are big achievements - probably explains its award-winning popularity with the audiences of various film festivals.

Sex and Lucía

Paz Vega smoulders her way through Lucía y El Sexo
  • Director: Julio Medem
  • Spain, 2001
  • 4 stars out of 5

Paz Vega’s Lucía is a wilful, independent woman whose romantic Achilles heel is the troubled writer Lorenzo. She could have breezed on through life as easily as crossing a sunlit plaza were it not for the extraordinary entanglements created by her errant scribe.

In view of Lucía’s strength of character, perhaps her infinite patience with Lorenzo jars a bit, but without that forbearance we’d have no movie.

Fortunately for us, Lucía’s dogged devotion to love and memories takes us through the beautifully shot landscape of a film that somehow manages to celebrate sex and strong emotion with a harmonious treatment uncommon in today’s cinema.

Dark Habits

Julieta Serrano and Chus Lampreave in Dark Habits
  • Director: Pedro Almodóvar
  • Spain, 1983
  • 3 stars out of 5

This colourful film, about a nightclub singer on the run who holes up in a convent only to find the nuns are worse sinners than her, is the first of Almodóvar’s oeuvre made with full production.

As if on cue, the set design is suddenly marvellous, the story detail considerably richer than previous efforts and Carmen Maura and Julieta Serrano run a tight ship with the script.

Ultimately, Dark Habits is a rather blunt instrument used to poke fun at religion. The dissipated sisters are comical and their lifestyles shocking, but the involving humanity of the director’s later work is still barely hinted at.