A, zer parea! Karakola eta barea!
Oh, what a pair, a snail and a slug.
These proverbs were collected by Jon Aske. For the full list, along with the origin and interpretation of each proverb, click this link.
A, zer parea! Karakola eta barea!
Oh, what a pair, a snail and a slug.
These proverbs were collected by Jon Aske. For the full list, along with the origin and interpretation of each proverb, click this link.
Despite their small country and the relatively small number of people, Basques have left their mark all across the globe. This is reflected in place names and one prime example is Durango. Durango is a relatively small village in the heart of Bizkaia, a larger city in Mexico, and a quaint town in Colorado.
A full list of all of Buber’s Basque Facts of the Week can be found in the Archive.
Primary sources: See the links in the article. See also Durango. Auñamendi Encyclopedia, 2025. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/durango/ar-45727/
The most basic element of a written language is the alphabet. However, because Euskara wasn’t standardized until the 1970s, spelling of Basque names and words was all over the place, often borrowing from Spanish and French. With standardization, the chaos finally settled and now there is a common alphabet used in all parts of the Basque Country. Those who standardized the alphabet and orthography made some interesting choices – using the letter x to represent the ‘sh’ sound and tx to represent ‘ch’ – that I haven’t been able to find why. If anyone knows, please leave a comment!
A full list of all of Buber’s Basque Facts of the Week can be found in the Archive.
Primary sources: Basque by Larry Trask, Buber’s Basque Page; Euskera, Wikipedia
Bryce Ternet is an author known for his novels set in the Basque Country and in various parts of the American West. His novels are full of fascinating characters and detailed explorations of exotic locations, often inspired by his many travels. By one of those serendipitous coincidences in life, his wanderings have taken him Los Alamos, New Mexico, where I also work. Bryce recently gifted me a collection of his novels and I just finished the first in the stack, The Basque Dilemma, which explores the possibility of a resurgence of ETA. I virtually “sat down” with Bryce to talk about his passion for the Basque culture, the inspiration for his novels, and his writing process.
Buber’s Basque Page: Bryce, first, thank you for doing this interview with me. Let me begin with one of the obvious questions: Where did your interest in the Basque Country and the Basque people come from?
Bryce Ternet: It’s funny as I often get asked that question. And I completely understand why. Despite boasting some amazing facts – the oldest distinct group in Europe; having a language that predates all living European languages; undoubtedly having ‘discovered’ the North American continent long before Columbus; having endured what is considered to be Europe’s ‘longest war’; playing a key role in America’s westward expansion, amongst so many other amazing historical and cultural points – Basque culture somehow remains largely unknown.
Born in the American Midwest, from an early age Bryce couldn’t wait to get out into the world. He finished high school early and spent his senior year as an exchange student in the majestic French Basque Country, finding himself, learning French, devouring a food and wine appreciation, and becoming entranced with Basque culture.
Bryce started writing in his twenties after wanting to his entire life and tries to continue finding a way to continue in between family, career, and getting into the outdoors. He has eleven published books: A Basque Story, Diplomatic Weekends in Africa, Strohm Alley, The Yellow House on Maloney Grove, The American Middle Class Revolution, Rock Creek, The Stevenson Plan, A Novel of the Monterey Peninsula, The Basque Dilemma, The Cibola Treasure Hunt, Sun Valley Serenade, and Jarbidge. (Bio from Amazon; you can find Bryce’s book on his author page.)
Although I have a French last name/French heritage, I’m about as blue-eyed, fair-skinned, common blood type and light brownish-haired as one can get – no DNA test required to prove I have no Basque in me.
And my exposure to Basque culture was completely by fortunate chance and luck. I was an exchange student my last year of high school in the French Basque Country. (I realize that referring to ‘Iparralde’ this way can be provocative, something I cover fully in some of my books, but for the sake of keeping things simple for now, I’ll refer to this area of the three Basque northern provinces located in southwest France this way.)
While I was there to learn French and absorb French culture, I had the opportunity of being exposed to Basque culture as well. And I loved and absorbed as much as I could. I even wanted to learn some Basque, but there were few opportunities. This was a time when the Basque language was really threatened with survival. Despite so many other languages being taught in the schools, Basque was not an option. Thankfully, there has been a revival in the last couple of decades and this is no longer the case.
And, as a note: I focus on the French Basque Country in both of my Basque-themed novels set in Europe, The Basque Dilemma and A Basque Story. If people are aware of anything Basque, normally they will associate with the southern Basque provinces located within Spain. And, in many ways, rightly so as this is considered to be the more dominant within the greater Basque Country. But the northern side deserves its own attention and has a distinct flavor and history which is even less known and written about.
I always knew I wanted to be a writer. The calling to get out into the world took me to Europe. The exposure to Basque culture inspired my first book. I continued to find Basque culture surrounding me over the next couple of decades. Graduate school took me to California. There I learned more on how Basques had been such a large part of the immigrant community as can still be seen reflected today in Basque restaurants and Basque clubs throughout the state. There was even a fantastic Basque restaurant less than an hour drive from where we lived on the Monterey Peninsula.
Another life and career adventure took us to Idaho’s Sun Valley. Just as Ernest Hemingway once did, I quickly became enamored with historical and existing Basque influence in Idaho. Boise has the highest population of Basques outside Europe! Closer to where we lived, there are still remnants of former Basque boarding houses where Basque sheepherders stayed. And I also developed a hobby of searching for sites of Basque arborglyphs where Basque herders carved into the bark of aspen trees leaving names, dates, salutations, proclamations, even amazing artwork. I began collaborating with Boise State Professor and Head of Basque Studies John Bieter (co-author of An Enduring Legacy) and assisting with his on-going efforts in identifying Basque arborglyph sites throughout the American West. All that tromping around in central Idaho’s mountains and aspen forests led to inspiration for another novel of mine with strong Basque themes, Sun Valley Serenade. Basque arborglyphs have a starring role, but I also included a historical segment reflecting an experience of a Basque sheepherder in the nineteenth-century American West.
BBP: You’ve now written more than a few books with a Basque theme. How did you settle on the general setting and plot of these novels?
Bryce Ternet: I base the settings of all my books on either places I’ve lived or traveled to. I hope the personal experience shines through as I try to incorporate setting as a character itself. Even though I write fictional stories, I strive to incorporate history and culture into my books. I love a great story as much as anyone; but I tend to prefer books where I walk away having learned some new things in addition to being engaged and entertained.
Plots are a different story. I’m sure any storyteller has their own development process. I normally get an idea, run with it, see how far I can get. Sometimes works. Sometimes doesn’t.
My latest novel, Jarbridge, is set in the Jarbidge area of northern Nevada. I was inspired to write this story after taking a solo camping trip to this crazy remote area of the continental United States. I was drawn to visit there as I had researched the historical presence of Basque sheepherders and all the arborglyphs they had left behind. And there are a lot!
While this one is a horror story, I was still able to incorporate Basque themes into the book. This time around I focused on how Basque immigrants came to this country and fully displayed their renowned dexterity to carve out lives for themselves, sustaining prejudices along the way.
BBP: Your stories take your characters, which span the ideological spectrum, all over the Basque Country and beyond. How do you give voice to such disparate characters? And what is your process for visiting these different places? Have you visited every place you write about?
Bryce Ternet: I’ll take the easy one first here: I try my best to only include places I’ve actually visited myself in my books. I think this adds something special to my writing. For example, my wife is Lithuanian so I’ve traveled to Lithuania quite a few times. Including a Lithuanian segment in The Basque Dilemma was something only my own personal experience could truly capture and resulted in a unique element in the story as the destination fit perfectly into a character arc. There are lot of stories set in the amazing city of Prague and lots of people have traveled there. But when was the last time you read a story set in the equally amazing yet under-the-radar eastern European city of Vilnius?
I focused my books A Basque Story and The Basque Dilemma primarily in the French Basque Country, as I know this side of the Basque Country better than the south. And because there’s simply also not as much out there written on the French Basque Country. I’ve read quite a few books, both nonfiction and fiction, related to the Basque Country. I promise: the overwhelming majority are focused on the south.
Ideological spectrum of character development is always a bit tricky. I think it’s probably something writers and actors share in common as far as our craft. As an artist, you’re trying your best to get into the head of a character and portray that character, even if you are morally opposed to the character.
BBP: In The Basque Dilemma, the plot revolves around a potential revival of Euskadi ta Askatasuna (ETA). What drew you to ETA and exploring that dynamic, that part of Basque history?
Bryce Ternet: More than a few times I have been accused of glamorizing ETA and the violent Basque independence/separatist/nationalist movement in my books. ‘Glamorizing’ seems pretty harsh judgement. My goal as a writer was to capture these historical periods and elements into a story to better highlight this movement which is not very well known outside of western Europe. I completely understand that some would say I include the ideologies of violent terrorists and do not present as much perspective from their victims. But you can only put so much in a book. And other authors, such as Fernando Aramburu, do an excellent job of thoroughly delving into the emotional toil that the Basque separatist movement had on people.
Furthermore, in my first novel, A Basque Story, I wanted to focus on the even lesser known elements of the Basque separatist movement which I had been directly exposed to. When I was living in the French Basque Country in the 90s, the Basque separatist movement was still very alive and well. In fact, ETA claimed responsibility for bombing a British bank in the town of Bayonne one morning when I was walking from a bus stop to school. For a seventeen-year-old from middle America, this was an eye-opening life event and one I’ve never forgotten. Even though no one was hurt in the blast as the attack had been called-in beforehand, the chaos of the explosion, smoke, and French security forces running around with machine guns was memorable.
About the same time, I had begun noticing how Basque youth groups were infiltrated into the high school setting. Some of these youth groups were later proven to being orchestrated by ETA and set up as sort of training grounds for future ETA units. Many of these groups pursued a low level street war tactic, such as de-facing storefronts of real estate offices known to cater to foreigners, igniting dumpster fires, and sketching separatist slogans and pictures on walls. In all the fiction and nonfiction books out there about the Basque separatist movement, there is little inclusion of these ETA-sponsored youth groups.
Additionally, I wanted to convey how much ETA activities spilled over the border into France, another little known element of the broader Basque separatist movement. I carried this over again in back stories within The Basque Dilemma to highlight the ‘Dirty War’ carried out by the group Spanish government supported group, GAL, which carried out harassment, kidnappings, torture, and assassinations of suspected ETA members and sympathizers who had crossed into the French Basque Country in exile.
An even lesser known element is that there was a violent separatist Basque group in the French Basque Country known as IK. This group’s activities never escalated to the level of violence or publicity as ETA, but the fact that they did exist and were involved in some remarkable exploits is fascinating and rarely mentioned.
As far as a resurgence of ETA or any other form of violent terrorist activities in the name of Basque nationalism, I do hope it never happens. But it could. Or it could have, as The Basque Dilemma explores. With any independence movement, there are going to be extreme elements within, perhaps on a fringe. And just as with the IRA’s ceasefire in Northern Ireland, not all factions of a movement are going to be in agreement with the actions of a group’s leadership.
So ‘glamourize’ seems a bit extreme to label my books as I see them in the same vein as Margaret Shedd’s A Silence in Bilbao. Not glamouring or idealizing, just capturing a period of history and sentiment. Outright glamorization of terrorism activities seems a bit more appropriate for books like Julen Agirre’s Operation Ogro.
BBP: I have to admit, I’m a bit jealous that, in addition to holding a regular full time job, you find the opportunity to write so prolifically. How does a typical writing day look for you? Do you write a little every day or do you seclude yourself and write intensely in dedicated sessions?
Bryce Ternet: And I have to equally admit that life has gotten in the way a bit in the last couple of years since I finished my most recent novel, Jarbidge. But normally, yes, to dedicate oneself to writing you do have to find some sort of discipline and stick to it. Early mornings before work and before kids are up when I can dedicate my thoughts to a book are the most opportune times. That said, the writing process for me normally involves a lot of initial research and notebooks filled with notes on characters, arcs, potential plot developments, historical facts, maps, etc. Actual writing is usually the easiest part.
BBP: If you were to continue the pattern of writing based on what you know and including Basque elements in many of your books, are you thinking of something regarding Basques in New Mexico?
Bryce Ternet: As a matter of fact, I wrote a fun little book (The Cibola Treasure Hunt) highlighting New Mexico before my wife and I moved down here from Idaho. We visited New Mexico years ago and I was fascinated with this place. Still am. New Mexico is unlike anywhere else I’ve lived in America. The history, culture, desert, mountains, canyons, geography, geology, landscape, sky, architecture, cuisine. All truly remarkable.
While I’ve continued learning more about New Mexico while living here, there was never a huge historical Basque presence in the state to base a story around. Certainly possible, but not one I see easily developing.
Where I really need to focus my efforts, and this interview is actually giving me jump start kick in the pants inspiration, is on my newest book effort which has been in some form of development for the last couple of years. The idea is for a story with elements of magical realism reflecting Basque mythology, a bit similar to how Dolores Redondo does in her marvelous Batzan Triology books. Also want to highlight elements of witchcraft, as there is quite the history associated with Basques. I’ve done the research and mapped out the journey, now just need to get the story out of my head and onto a page.
BBP: Finding new arborglyphs sounds like an amazing adventure. What is the most amazing or interesting arborglyph you have found so far?
Arborglyph hunting is a fun hobby for sure. But it’s even more important to me these days as it has a definite purpose beyond myself. I assist ‘The Arborglyph Collective,’ a group established through Basque affairs specialists at Boise State University and the University of Nevada, amongst others. This group has been pulled together to find and document as many historical Basque arborglyphs in the American West as possible while there is still time. And time is running out. The height of Basque herders in the west was from the 1930s to 1970s. Aspen trees don’t have the lifespan of some trees and are very susceptible to wildfire. So time is literally running out to locate and photo document.
I’ve conducted some research and received assistance from Professor Troy Lovata at the University of New Mexico. I’ve journeyed into quite a few areas on the search. Unfortunately, while there have been some possibilities, I’ve not found anything yet that immediately indicated a Basque angle to a carving. But I need to spend more time in the San Pedro Parks Wilderness, as Troy has previously recorded some arborglyphs through his own broader efforts which undoubtedly had a Basque touch. The challenge is that the San Pedro Park Wilderness is exactly that – wilderness. Not the most easily accessible, compounded with a microclimate that is surprisingly swampy most of the year. But I’m planning another trip as soon as late spring arrives. Also plan to head a little further north in southern central Colorado at Troy’s suggestion.
As for my favorite arborglyph finds, I’d say I have three. One is the area around Jarbidge, NV. I took a solo-camping trip up there some years ago with the explicit goal to search for arborglyphs after having read how Basque herders based out of Elko ranches would take their herds up into those Nevada remote highlands during summer months. I was not not disappointed. There are aspen groves outside of the ‘town’ of Jarbidge which are covered in amazing arborglyphs. Some of the best I’ve ever seen and clearly left by Basque herders.
The second would be a particular aspen tree I found on a mountainside just above a meadow on the edge of the Idaho’s Boulder Mountains near a Forest Service complex. The general area had a multitude of arborglyphs, clearly Basque. I found one tree off from the others which a herder had made all his own. He had carved his name, hometown in the Spanish Basque Country, and then three successive years that he had visited that very spot. I sat there a bit and reflected on how this herder had done the same decades earlier, gazing out at his herd in this beautiful mountain meadow.
Last, and probably my favorite, was a grove I found near the headwaters of the Salmon River at the edge of Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains. What was so special about this one is that, unlike arborglyph areas north of Ketchum, Idaho and outside Jarbidge, Nevada, which others have recorded, I could find no record at all of anyone having recorded finding this particular grove. So I proudly consider it my own find/recording.
BBP: I’m excited to hear about your new project on Basque magic realism, I look forward to it! Will this be your first foray into more fantastical elements in your stories?
A first foray into fantasy and mythology for sure. But I have delved into supernatural elements in a few of my non-Basque themed books. Fairly sure spending a couple of years living in Pacific Northwest winter gloom brought that side of out of me. Amazing region in summer, all those couple of months. But most of rest of the year…whew (at least it was that way over ten years ago). Made me appreciate why so may serial killers and suicides occur up there.
BBP: Continuing on your life as an author, was there a specific moment or trigger where you realized you wanted to be a writer? Was there a specific inspiration that led you to put pen to paper?
Bryce Ternet: Seventh Grade. Miss Watt’s class. We had been learning about India and the final assignment was to write an in-class essay on what we’d learned in any format. I wrote a few paragraphs trying to imagine what life must be like for a farmer living in rural India. Miss Watt’s was so impressed, she read my writing in front of the whole class and I received not only looks of awe from a teacher, but from a lot of bored teenagers.
BBP: In The Basque Dilemma, you have one character that is particularly central to the story who has her feet, so to say, in both sides of the Basque conflict. Was there a specific inspiration or inspirations for this character? Or did you create her out of whole cloth?
Bryce Ternet: Ah, yes, my Lady in Black. Such a fascinating character to explore. Fiction, even when based on historical facts, offers a lot of opportunities for a writer. This particular character was inspired by a couple of actual figures in ETA’s history. One was Maria Dolores Katarain – also known as Yoyes. She was a senior ETA member who later abandoned the group and was murdered as a traitor by her former comrades. I wanted to go deeper into what may motivate someone to turn to extremism in the name of a cause, delve into why they would do so, and how they would face the consequences, one way or another. And there actually was a black clothing-clad lethal female assassin operating at the height of the GAL’s activities in the French Basque Country. And then she vanished. Poof. Gone. She’s definitely part of character inspiration as well. Sometimes reality is so incredible that there’s no need for fiction to embellish. But what happened to her? Did she cross ETA? Was she caught by the French authorities and silently dealt with? Or did she decide to walk away from the cause and start a new clandestine life somewhere? Mysteries like this are fascinating and I love that we don’t know the answers.
BBP: I was aware of your work, but it wasn’t until I saw an article in the local paper highlighting how you now lived in Los Alamos that I thought to reach out.
Bryce Ternet: I’m so glad you did!
BBP: What brought you to New Mexico? And how did you first discover my website?
Bryce Ternet: Pretty crazy how we both ended up in northern New Mexico. My wife and I had always considered moving to this general area and a job opportunity brought us here.
And so funny as I found your website over twenty years ago when I was researching my first book. Your website is amazing and such a resource. Thanks for all the work you put into it to keep Basque culture and history alive!
BBP: Mil esker Bryce!
Last week I profiled John Garamendi, one of the most prominent Basque-American politicians we have ever had in the United States. However, the distinction for the most prominent politician goes to Paul Laxalt. Governor and US Senator, he was also a close friend of Ronald Reagan and played an important role in Reagan’s presidential campaigns. The brother of writer Robert Laxalt, Paul made his own mark on history. It is interesting to note how both Paul and John were and are known for their work across the aisle and their ability to work with the other party.
A full list of all of Buber’s Basque Facts of the Week can be found in the Archive.
Primary sources: Paul Laxalt, Wikipedia
For centuries, the history of the Basques has been written by non-Basques – we have so little historical documentation written directly in Euskara or even by Basque themselves. Thus, when we find any hint of Basque history written by Basques, we must examine it to the fullest. The unassuming carvings left by Basque sheepherders in the American west might seem quaint or even cartoonish, but historian Prof. Joxe Mallea-Olaetxe has spent his career documenting those carvings to learn as much as we can about the people and circumstances that led to those carvings. Joxe took a winding route to his eventual calling, much like the sheepherders wandered those mountains. In this interview, Joxe discusses how he became a historian, the importance and meaning of the Basque tree carvings, and his new project to further spread and preserve those carvings and his work.
Author Joxe Mallea-Olaetxe grew up in Euskal Herria (the Basque-speaking country), where as a boy he heard stories about Idaho, Nevada, and California told by returnee ex-sheepherders. After receiving a Ph.D. from the University of Nevada, Reno, in 1985, he began video-documenting the history of the Basque community. He has recorded 27,000 arborglyphs in several states and hundreds of hours of Basque picnics, dancing, improvised verse singing, and interviews with sheepherders, which have resulted in several publications. He continues working with federal agencies that manage the public lands where a century of Basque history remains carved. (From Euskal Kazeta)
Buber’s Basque Page: Tell us a little bit about yourself. How did you find your way to the United States?
Joxe Mallea-Olaetxe: I was born in the MontorZuri farmstead [baserri] in Munitibar, Bizkay, Euskal Herria (Basque Country). The farm sits on a hill and from there, everything is steeply downhill. As a boy I am told that I used to throw down the hill anything that rolled, including my father’s cider barrel. By age 5 I was walking the cows to pasture, and I also started school, and on the first day the teacher told me something like “From now on you don’t speak Basque, only Spanish.” I didn’t understand a word, but later I learned what he meant.
I had an uncle priest, Luis Mallea, a renowned musician who in 1939 founded the Lagun Onak Choir (still singing) in Buenos Aires, Argentina. He told my parents that I needed to go to school and at age 9 they sent me to Onati to the monastery of the Canons of Lateran; the town called the priests “Agustiñuak,” and many local boys went to school there, which was located 9 kms from the better-known Franciscan Monastery of Arantzazu.
We were all Basques, except one or two “erdeldunak” (non-Basque speakers), but the official language was Spanish; after all, those were the Franco years. I was 16-17 when I discovered the Basque language and its dire situation, thanks to older members of the seminarians who were beginning to study and write in Basque; this was in the late 1950s. When I graduated in 1964, we were publishing Erein (To Sow), a periodical, all in Euskara, though some of our superiors were not too happy.
By that time, I was active in the Basque-language world (it was so small, anyway), and the Spanish police was keeping track of us. We learned many languages in the seminary, Latin, French, Spanish, classical Greek (on the first day of class I told the teacher I had no time to study a dead language and that he should give me a zero right then and there; he did at the end of the semester), and even some English. On my own I studied a little German and more English, and because of that I was sent to New York where a group of the Canons had already been engaged by the Archbishop to minister to the Puerto Ricans. At that time, the Catholic clergy in New York had few if any members who spoke Spanish. I was there three years, until one night I was robbed by a group (of teenagers, I think, but it was dark) and to me that was the chance to get away from the Big Apple and head to Nevada where my sister and other relatives lived. I also had an uncle in Modesto, California, and several cousins in California and Nevada.
I worked three years in the Church, first in Sparks, Nevada, and then Elko until 1971. I fell in love with Elko, where there were many Basque sheepherders and others. I had a terrific chance to start writing their history then, but I didn’t, though I interviewed some old-timers and kept the notes and a few photos. However, I redeemed myself several years ago when I approached the Basques of Elko about writing their history, which the University of Nevada Press will publish in the Spring of 2025. The title is: More than Sheepherders: The American Basques of Elko County, Nevada. It was a collaborative effort, Jess Lopategui being a major source, and two local women, Anita Anacabe and Mercedes Mendive, each writing a chapter.
BBP: My uncle Martin also studied to be a priest in Onati, and very nearly became ordained until he met his future wife. Was there a specific event that diverted you from the priestly path to that of the historian?
Joxe Mallea-Olaetxe: I studied theology for four years, 1960-64, and those were the years of the Vatican II Ecumenical Council, 1962-65, that Pope John XXIII heralded as a breath of fresh air that the Catholic Church sorely needed. Indeed, but the dissenters claimed that a lot of crows flew in through that window that the Pope opened (crows are asking, why blame us?). I lived and graduated through those ideologically and theologically turbulent years.
The best example I can point out is the Latin Mass that was replaced by local languages. Our theology textbooks were in Latin, and we started objecting why a dead language was so important. There were many aspects of our education that were outdated, and we young guns were eager to trample on them. One egregious example was “Don’t look at women.” You are asking that of a 20-year-old? It was very abnormal, and yet we were committed to the vow of chastity.
Intellectually and dogmatically speaking, the Church hierarchy in the 1960s was living four centuries back, when Inigo Loiola founded the Jesuits. The church resisted change as a policy, and we can understand why. If for centuries you were saying that Mary was “covered” by the Holy Spirit and she was a virgin when she gave birth to Jesus, that’s a tough one to prove, but you have to stick to it and continue preaching it. There is a canon law dictating that the Church and the Pope cannot err when it comes to religion. In other words, the Church wants its Catholics to not ask any question and live forever in a bubble, but sooner or later, the bubble can burst.
There is a positive side to resisting change; it gives people an anchor that they can depend on, and many people who prefer to let others do the thinking need it. The Church possesses other virtues such as assisting the poor and the hungry, the number one mission that Jesus commanded, but human beings, not saints, make up the Church and the hierarchy, and the attention to the mission is not always a priority.
One of my parishes in NYC was “experimental” with three members, two Irish and one Basque, and some of the things we did there as “normal” were too extreme for the bishop of Reno. It became a problem when I married a couple—one Catholic and the other a Presbyterian—in the Presbyterian Church of Elko and someone told the bishop about it. The bishop said: This is not New York; you are in Nevada now. That took me by surprise. My idea of Nevada with its wide-open spaces, its casinos, its brothels, and its Old West laissez-faire attitude would find nothing wrong in getting along with a different Christian denomination. The bishop was a Midwesterner, and he didn’t understand Nevada; anyway, that is what I am thinking now. He left Reno soon after I did Elko.
The real reason I left the Church was belief. My faith wasn’t there anymore. The Catholic Church is the biggest and oldest continuous organization (you might say that the Roman Empire still exists), and its leitmotif is that change is bad. Saint Augustin, the oracle of the Church, famously said, “the truth never varies.” But we humans are not smart enough to know the truth of many things around us. One day the earth is flat and the next day it isn’t. For centuries the Church taught the heliocentric doctrine, until it couldn’t and didn’t. So, believing the Bible word for word because it is inspired by God is one doctrine that I could not believe in.
The Church thrives because it preaches ideas that cannot be proven or disproven. You cannot prove that God is one and three at the same time, but you cannot disprove it either. You cannot prove that Jesus is the son of God and that he resurrected after dying on the cross, but you cannot disprove it either. Many people, particularly in Europe, who used to believe these ideas no longer do today.
BBP: You’ve spent much of your career researching the history of Basques in the American West. What attracted you to that particular area of study?
Joxe Mallea-Olaetxe: I was always a history buff, even before I got the PhD at the University of Nevada in 1988. I soon realized that the Basques have not written enough of their own history, especially in their own language, like all other countries usually do. The history of Spain I studied in Onati did not mention a single thing that the Basque had accomplished. I was wondering why we were different from the Castilians who had attained great feats. At the time I didn’t know that Franco the dictator was cooking history textbooks.
The first book in Basque, Bernard Etchepare’s Linguae Vasconum Primitiae, was printed in 1545. We were behind most other countries in Europe, which was one reason why we were told that Euskara was not fit to express modern thought. Imagine the surprise by many critics when they learned that in Irulegi, Nafarroa, they recently found a metal piece with Basque inscriptions dated 80-90 BC.That’s about almost 1,000 years before Spanish was written for the first time. To give you an example of the sad situation that Basque historiography is in, I will mention something that used to bother me a lot. Historians, domestic and foreign alike, loved writing about the Basques and their mysterious language, while ignoring Euskara altogether. The baserri was “caserio,” Donostia did not exist, it was San Sebastian, etc., etc. Everything Basque was quoted in Spanish or French.
Early on, however, my favorite subject was not history, but linguistics. We all wanted to decipher the mystery of Euskara, but I got disappointed, because the genre contained lots of theories with few concrete facts that a majority agreed upon. It was a free-for-all. I myself had wild ideas; I saw what seemed a connection between Euskara and Sumerian. As I read Sumerian, it sounded a lot like Basque to me. Some of their place names and cities, Ur, the oldest city, and Mari, Sippar, Nagar, Uruk, Larsa, Eridu, Assur, Zabala, Isin, Girsu, Urmia, Hurria, Kisurra, and Umma are familiar sounds to our Basque ears. The name of their kings often ending in –zzar/sar (like Nabuchadnezzar) is another example; to me it was zahar, as the elders were often the chiefs. The title and the sound still endure in Persian Sha, Latin Caesar, German Kaiser, Russian Czar, and more.
But I gave linguistics up for history, which is more grounded in documents. And speaking of which, since you and I are both of Bizkayan descent, the first romance document that mentions Bizkaia says Biscai, not Bizkaia or Vizcaya. It is perhaps a small bone to pick, but there it is. The English say Biscay, and I think it should be written Bizkay, rather than Bizkaia. We don’t need the article “a.” On aspens I found several Vizcay and Biscay surnames of sheepherders carved. And funny thing, these people were not Bizkayans; they were from Nafarroa and Iparralde. So the word exists all over the Basque Country. What does it mean? I don’t know.
My first intent was to explain to myself how the Basque had survived as a different country and culture when sandwiched between two strong European monarchies that had divided us. We were not a country, the Spanish and French historians told us, we were a part of France and Spain. But that argument was shot to pieces years ago. Nation states are a modern invention, and the Basques are thousands of years older than when France and Spain made it to the map.
The first problem I encountered was documentation. We Basques had little of it, and what was available was housed in Spanish and French archives, often written by non-Basques. That is when I luckily discovered Joan Zumarraga, the first Bishop and Archbishop of Mexico. Nowadays, historians shun old friars and bishops, but Zumarraga is mostly an unknown quantity if not a misunderstood figure by Basque historians, nothing to say about Spanish ones.
His letters to his family and relatives in Durango, Bizkay–one of them in Euskara (posted on Buber’s website) constitute what I call early “homegrown documentation” written from Mexico in the 1530s and 1540s that we Basques sorely need more of. In those letters we appreciate that Zumarraga did not regard himself anything other than a Basque. He writes as a member of the Basque world. The concept of Spanish did not exist back then like it might today, but historians don’t like to check history that close unless it is politically correct. He considered himself subject of the King of Spain, Emperor Charles V, his good friend, but never Spanish. He often mentions “mi nacion” and “nuestra nacion,” always referring to the Basque Country. But historians, Spanish and most others, refer to him as a Spanish friar. In the last two decades, world history and literature—the internet, for example— are finally recognizing the Basque identity.
My PhD dissertation was titled, “Juan Zumarraga, Bishop of Mexico, and the Basques: The Ethnic Connection,” (1988). Actually, his name was Joan, but I had to accept his historical name. I could not believe that his many connections to other Basques had not been reported by previous historians. He particularly depended on Basque ship owners, who controlled much of the shipping and trade between Spain and Mexico. Miguel Lopez Legazpi, the future colonizer of Philippines, was his intimate friend, who at least once smuggled money and other items from Mexico for the bishop’s family and friends in the Basque Country.
The following may resonate with the Basques in the West: It turns out that Zumarraga was a sheep owner, the first that we know of in North America (he owned 6,000 head). He was a modern man in many ways, an Erasmian, in tune with the latest semi-revolutionary ideas of his time (forbidden by the Roman Church). He owned the books by Erasmus of Rotterdam that the Church forbade. He brought the first printing press to America and printed the first books (one written by himself); he brought female teachers, some of them Basques (unheard of in the Church), to teach the Aztec girls; he imported donkeys, and fruit trees, and sponsored over a dozen Basque families, whose descendants spread in Mexico, but migrated preferably to the north, where the semi-independent province of Nueva Vizcaya was formed after 1562 and was governed by the laws of Bizkay. It included the states of Chihuahua and Durango and parts of Coahuila and Texas. Its first governor was Francisco Ibarra from Durango, like Zumarraga, the name he gave his capital city. Later the Hapsburg kings in Spain disallowed the Bizkayan laws in Nueva Vizcaya.
All this makes it easier to see why Arizona is a Basque word, after a ranch and a mine in Sonora owned by a Navarrese named Bernardo Urrea. Why San Francisco was started and populated by colonists from Sonora brought in 1776 by Juan Bautista Anza, Jr. Anza Sr. was from Gipuzkoa, who governed parts of northern Mexico and Southwest US for many years; he spoke Basque, naturally, and his son may have spoken it, too.
I also have a surprise for today’s Mexicans. We know that according to the popular narrative the Virgin of Guadalupe appeared to Juan Diego, who was told to go see the bishop—Zumarraga—about building a church in her honor in Tepeyac. After some doubts, Zumarraga was convinced of the apparition and ordered the church built, but there is zero historical documentation for any of this. Historians, like the Mexican Garcia Icazbalceta think it is all apocryphal. However, I have in my possession a document of 1556 where it is stated that Martin Aranguren left a donation to the Church of Guadalupe. This means that the church was built already in 1556. That’s 10 years after Zumarraga’s death. This is crucial information because Aranguren, a man of means born in Lekeitio, Bizkay, was the bishop’s right hand man, his mayordomo, who often rescued him from his frequent money problems. When Archbishop Zumarraga died in 1546, he left all his meager possessions to Aranguren.
BBP: Much of your scholarly work has been spent examining the tree carvings sheepherders left on aspen trees. In all of your study of the Basque tree carvings, what is the most interesting or surprising thing you’ve found?
Joxe Mallea-Olaetxe: I discovered the aspen carvings of the sheepherders in Elko, one day in 1968 when on horse I was visiting a distant lonely herder of the Goicoechea outfit. He was from Munitibar and I told him:
–Your parents would not believe if they saw you here; this is so far away!
He quickly answered:
–Far away, you say? Jainku ez da ona ondino eldu (God himself has yet to arrive here).
Twenty years later, when I was finishing my PhD program, I rediscovered the carvings on Peavine Mountain, which was located a mile away from my place north of Reno. I realized quickly that thousands of aspen carvings had not been recorded or analyzed properly. So, I embarked in research lasting twenty years, and even if I had continued for another twenty years, I would have recorded only a small portion of the totality.
I discovered that I had started the research fifty years too late. By 1990, 70% of the carvings etched by Basque herders on the aspens of the Americans West were gone. This is a guess, but an educated one, because aspens are shallow-rooted ephemeral trees. I will give you an example. I researched Peavine Mountain twice, the second time in 2006 and recorded some 630 carvings. Today I would be happy to find 40-50 of them.
You never know what you are going to see when you silently walk the aspen forest. It could be the name of someone from my hometown. “Munitibarko asto bat emen dabilena” (I am a donkey from Munitibar that is wandering here). You climb a mountain to 9,000 feet, and you find this lonely aspen overlooking a quarter of the state of Nevada that says: “Len neskatan, oin arditan, beti amesetan, J. Z. 1915.” (Before I chased girls, now I chase sheep, I am always dreaming). At that moment, watching the tree at that unforgettable place, my greatest regret was not knowing who this J. Z. was. Fortunately, down the road I learned that he was a bertsolari (an improvising and singing poet) and his name was Jose Zarakondegi, a Bizkayan.
Most herders brought with them a rural culture, steeped in ancient myths and beliefs, one of which refers to snakes. Christians preached to the Basques that snakes represented evil, but it did not erase all previous ideas held by Euskaldunak (speakers of Euskara). According to them, Suar (male serpent) mated with the goddess (don’t ask me for details) and many ipuinak (mythological tales) talk about snakes crawling in bed at night and finding the woman’s breast while she is asleep. On trees I found figures of several snakes being nursed not by women but by sheep and by donkeys. And the lamb and foal? They are there too, just waiting their turn until the big snake is satiated.
You also see a lot of stars on trees, more than crosses, and I wondered why. I asked one herder if they did a lot of star gazing at night, and he thought I was naïve for sure. “We slept at night, what do you think?” he said. Then, one day, I was singing a classic popular song in which the star is identified with the loved one. I looked at other lyrics, and sure enough, in many popular Basque songs, the beloved was compared to a star.
BBP: In your view, what is the importance of the tree carvings to Basque history?
Joxe Mallea-Olaetxe: Question: Who carves trees to communicate? Answer: Nobody, except the Basque herders. That in itself should be significant.
For thousands of years the Basque farmers and others did not write. They sang and they whistled but they did not write. When they arrived in America, some could hardly sign their names, and others were semi-illiterates. Of the many thousands of arborglyphs I recorded, I found only a few sentences carved in correct grammar. The closest who came to that were the people from Iparralde when they carved in Basque, which they often did.
Carving affected 95% of the Basques sheepherders; that is, only a few carved nothing. Even those who never carved their names, they may have tried to etch an animal, a star, or a woman. Some of the human figures are, well, primitive-looking, like the work of a five year old. The biggest thing for many of them was to simply be able to carve their name: “Jose Inza, Navarra, 1919.” They knew that the message would be read by other contemporary herders and by all who would come later. Seeing his name carved made him feel immediately more important. He was in America now and he was doing things he didn’t do back home.
When I started the research and began asking the herders and ex-herders for information on their carvings, their reaction was muted. One said: “They are not important.” Another said: “You are not going to find them,” and then he added: “Don’t look at them.” The truth is that if someone had not found the carvings intriguing and started looking at them and photographing them, the herders, left to themselves, would probably never have mentioned them to anyone. Just like extremely few of them told their children about their lives on the range. Why not? It was not important.
For many young Basques, sheepherder life came as a shock. Living alone with their sheep, donkey/horse, and dogs, but without company was too much to bear. So, during those hot lazy days of summer in the high country, when sheep nap in the shade, the herders have nothing to do but think. About their situation, dreaming about their girlfriends back in Europe, or they just wanted to get something off their chests because they had a bad day. Well, they walked to a nice aspen, and knife in hand started carving. The herders created a brand-new pastime in their new environment. They carved statements that they would never have dared to in their own towns. “Fok sgood” was a favorite. Do you think they would carve that on a tree in their neighborhood and then sign it? Feeling alone in the mountains changed these men, freed them from many Old Country taboos. for example, from being good Catholics and attending mass every Sunday. Many did not return to Church, except for a Basque funeral.
The carved data, which once was considered “doodlings,” is a primary documentation for a historian. And we have to say it: Many Basque sheepherders started toying with writing and becoming artists in America for the first time in their lives. In their own country they didn’t do any of it. What a change!
People who early on became interested in tree carvings described mostly the quaint art of human and animal figures they found. Some called it “Piccasoesque.” They understood the figures much better than the words, when in fact, the art is a minor component of the carving business. I, on the other hand, judged the carvings as historical documents that the herders left not for us, but for themselves. So, as a researcher I was privy to many intimate statements left on trees and at times I had to decide not to divulge a few of them. After recording over 26,000 glyphs, I can say that 85-90% of them include a name or a date, or both. That is pure history, because without names you cannot write much of it. Until now, historical documents were found mostly in city archives. Plain sheepherders emerging from the baserri (farmstead) changed that. If you want to study sheepherding, sheepherders, and their wanderings in the West, you must leave town and head for the mountains.
BBP: The Basque Country is famous for ancient cave paintings. Do you see any connection between the aspen tree carvings and the pictures left on those cave walls?
Joxe Mallea-Olaetxe: It would be difficult to find a connection between the cave paintings and aspen carvings when at least 10,000 years separate them. Besides, what do we know about cave paintings? Our understanding of them is as clear as a dark cave. It is mostly conjecture; for example, we think that they painted bisons so that the hunters could have an advantage over the animals when they went hunting. You buy that? Of course you do, it is our best guess.
I do see some connections, for example, the cave painters and the sheepherders did not use the usual media—pen and paper—to communicate. And when you think of it, humans have communicated with each other long before pen and paper came along. Cavemen painted rocks and sheepherders carved aspens. So, neither group knew or used the media that has been a fundamental instrument of human civilization for the last 5,000 years (at least the pen). Some sheepherders never again wrote anything once they left the sheep, because they didn’t know how. But in the mountains they found a new type of freedom and they dared carve a bird, a dog, and preferably himself with a woman. I have no doubt that the cavemen carved trees long before they emigrated to the rock walls. It is a lot easier to mark a tree with animals or what have you.
We could talk about freedom also, if we knew something about cave painters: How free were they? What if they were considered radicals by their peers? Some observers believe that it was the shamans who did the painting. We know nothing about the mindset of cavemen, but we can say the sheepherders lost some of their Old Country mores in the mountains. What I do not understand is why there are no paintings of humans in the caves, not as realistic as the animals, anyway. Animals were more important than fellow humans? For the sheepherders, carving a human figure was the second-best fascination after their names. Was there a taboo about painting a human on the cave walls? If so, it would be the reverse of what the herders felt.
BBP: One time when my dad was in the hospital, we asked if he had ever left any tree carvings in the mountains. He wouldn’t answer. My wife then drew the outline of a voluptuous woman on the white board and asked if he ever carved anything like that. He blushed and looked away, a twinkle in his eye. You alluded to the loneliness of the herders and the somewhat risqué nature of some of the carvings. Without going into any detail, how often did the carvings reflect the loneliness of these young men so far from home?
Joxe Mallea-Olaetxe: I have met person after person who complained to me that their father never told them anything about his years as a sheepherder. One said that, when pressed, he would clam up and say: “There is nothing to tell.” It sounds absurd that a man who had spent three years or more, basically alone with sheep, a donkey/horse, and two dogs, had nothing to tell. A lot of people spend money to get to those high beautiful Sierra mountains where the herders claim nothing happened.
One obvious reason is that most of them did not enjoy their primitive lifestyle, though a few did. They were young and they thought about girls and partying much more than their work. The amazing surroundings they lived in, the views, the raw unspoiled wild nature that city folks will never taste, wasn’t enough to counter the need for female companionship. To fill the void they caved figures of women in whatever posture they liked, and your father probably did it, too.
So, even though 90% of the carvings are names and dates, the rest have to do with stars, crosses, etc., but mostly with human figures, in particular nude women in different erotic poses.
Your father, Blas, and other herders lived in a liminal condition, between a world with sheep and the unrelenting desire to be with a woman. You can say that the herders lived like the Medieval serfs, attached to the land owned by the lord, while the herders were attached to the sheep 24/7 for weeks and months. On the other hand, you can also view their lifestyle as the freest; they wandered over mountains, valleys, and canyons unimpeded; they never saw another human being and they must have felt like the owned the earth. Their carvings reflect these contradictions, so many “viva/biba” to themselves or whatever and “puta sierras.”
Because of our fixation with sex, the arborglyphs were once categorized as “pornographic.” They could do that only by disregarding 90% of the carvings and their significance.
The herders when facing that beautiful aspen trunk were usually very candid. I don’t think they lied much. They knew that whatever they carved would be read by other herders, but they didn’t care much. All of them were thinking the same thing: Women, and sometimes, money. In one tree of Elko County, Nevada, the herder says that he masturbated 12 times, and had to stop because he developed a headache. Statements about visiting the whorehouses in Nevada are found in every major sheep range. Some admitted being broke, because of it. Would these men carve that on a tree in their hometown in the Basque Country? No. If they did, everybody would be talking about them for days if not weeks. But they could do it freely in the wilds of America. However, once they left the range, Old Country culture kicked back in, and it didn’t allow them to talk about such
BBP: You’ve recently created a new website, basquehistory.com. Can you describe the motivation for creating this site? What is your goal and what do you hope to accomplish with your site?
Joxe Mallea-Olaetxe: I recently started the basquehistory.com website, primarily to post the aspen carvings. I thought that the American Basques would enjoy finding the names of their father, uncle, and relatives and the places where they herded sheep. They are not going to find this information anywhere else other than on trees. Unfortunately, some will not be too happy when they see some of the statements they left on aspens. Fortunately, most of the sexual content carved is not claimed. I know who did it, but usually the herder’s name is not on the same tree where the figure is carved. What I plan to post is a small sample of the totality that I recorded, mostly the ones in Nevada and California. I donated all my materials to the Basque Library at University of Nevada, Reno, and they can continue posting the rest from the data in the videos. I also gave them a database, which should be helpful in finding the names of the old herders.
I will be posting other stories about the Basques in the West, the interviews, Kantari Eguna singing and bertsolari performances, festivals, which I recorded on video. In addition, Joan Zumarraga, the first bishop of Mexico, would be a target as well. I may even post some stories written by other Basques who want to share experiences about their personal connection with ranching.
And finally, I might post something about my present writing; it is not history, but fiction, where I intend to address how and when the ancestors of the Basques named themselves Euskaldunak, Euskeldunek, and Eskualdunak. It happened over 400,000 years ago.
BBP: Mil esker Joxe!
“Make sure the next generation is better off than yours.” That is the ethos of so many immigrants, the Basques included, as they look for opportunity in foreign lands. It was what Saturnino Garamendi told his grandson as he entered politics. John Garamendi is a prime example of this ethos. His grandfather immigrated to Utah and, with his fellow immigrant Maria at his side, they owned more than one hotel. John’s dad Raymond served in World War II. John took that foundation to become one of the most prominent Basque-American politicians in the United States.
A full list of all of Buber’s Basque Facts of the Week can be found in the Archive.
Primary sources: Garamendi Wins Congressional Election (Updated), EuskalKazeta; John Garamendi: Family man, local rancher and career politician by Matt Brown, LodiNews.com; Friends, family gather to honor Garamendi matriarch, Calaveras Enterprise; Garamendi for Congress; John Garamendi, Wikipedia
Long time friend and collaborator of Buber’s Basque Page, David Cox, was watching the recent film on Bob Dylan’s life – A Complete Unknown. The New York Folklore Center was part of the story as the Center became a focal point for American folk music. In the context of Bob Dylan’s life, he spent a lot of time there, listening to music and reading.
David noticed that the sign for the Center featured a lauburu. This is curious, as the owner of the Folklore Center, Izzy Young, as best as David and I can tell, had no Basque connections. Maybe this is somehow purely coincidence? Or maybe Izzy saw a lauburu somewhere and liked it so much he made it a part of his store? The lauburu isn’t exclusively Basque, so maybe he got it from somewhere else?
If anyone has any insight as to why a lauburu was associated with the Folklore Center, we are so curious to find out.
Update! This post piqued Gerard Ezcurra’s interest and, as he writes, “I reached out to the Folklore Centrum in Stockholm (which Ziggy also founded), who also use the Lauburu. It doesn’t solve the mystery, but here is their reply.”
Gerard: Thank you for your Facebook page. I am curious about your logo (which of course is the Folklore Center’s logo). It is the Lauburu from Basque (northern Spain, southern France) culture. Someone has asked about the connection of Izzy Young and the Basques. Perhaps you know its origin?
Folklore Centrum: Hi Gerard,
Thanks for your nice message, and your kind communication. This symbol has long been shrouded in mystery as to why it was used by Izzy at his Folklore Center and Folklore Centrum, though many have speculated various reasons over the years. We do know that the original sign was given to Izzy by female artist friend of his in Greenwich Village back in the early 1960s.
I do plan to dig deeper into research someday as to who exactly this artist was but I do not know off hand.
Very interesting to read what this symbol is used to represent in Basque Country, and this very well may be a clue to both the artist and her intention in gifting it to Izzy.
It is surely an ancient and esoteric symbol nonetheless, and often a source of wonderment and inspiration to those who view it.
Izzy was great friend to me in the later years of his life. So I keep this Facebook page going in his memory and honor. So nice to connect with you here. Thanks for reaching out!
/Noah Gest
People have always searched for answers and have often turned to the world around them to help explain seemingly random events. Why did she die? Why did he get sick? The animal world often provided answers, or at least foretold coming misfortune. The Basques had a strong relationship with the animals around them and found, if not solace, at least some sense of order to the chaotic world in the voices of those animals.
A full list of all of Buber’s Basque Facts of the Week can be found in the Archive.
Primary source: Presagios de muerte/Heriotzaren zantzuak, Atlas Etnográfico de Vasconia
In early December, I was in Boston for the annual Materials Research Society meeting. Always the week after Thanksgiving, this conference brings together materials scientists from all over the world to share their most recent results and ideas. It’s also a great opportunity to catch up with friends.
That includes non-scientist friends. We have some friends we met in Santa Fe that moved to Boston a few years ago to be closer to family. When I told them I was going to be in town, they jumped at the chance to get together. They also went above and beyond, inviting me to one of Boston’s newest foodie spots, Zurito.
Zurito opened only a month earlier, in November 2024. Situated in the Boston Commons area, it is in a great location, full of charm and character. The brownstones all around are witnesses to so much history. We took a stroll after dinner to take in all the great architecture. Many of the houses had plaques that detailed the history associated with them.
The place was packed! We had to have a reservation to even sit at the bar. It felt like a Basque taberna with so much ambiance – so much marcha – even if the pintxos weren’t on display all along the bar like you’d see in the Basque Country. We ordered a suite of pintxos to share, from beef cheeks (which I only recently tried in the Basque Country but thought they were wonderful) to traditional tortilla and patatas bravas to a plate of sliced chorizo. Everything was quite good, excellent even. The beef cheeks in particular took me back to that restaurant in Bilbo…
I originally asked for a kalimotxo and the bartender seemed a bit befuddled. When I instead asked for half wine, half coke, he then told me they were out of coke. So I “settled” for a glass of txakoli from Getaria, which was quite nice, though I never quite got over my missing kalimotxo.
At the risk of sounding like a grumpy old man and channeling my dad, the one thing about these types of places is the cost. My dad was always for quantity over quality and, while I do like good food, I can’t help but compare the prices with what they would be in the Basque Country. That said, we weren’t in the Basque Country and it is hard to get these flavors outside of Boise.
We ended the nice with a cheese platter, as they didn’t have any actual deserts. I expected that they might have membrillo, but instead they had a fruit spread that came with the cheese. Not quite the same, but it captured the basic essence.
Overall, while you might not hit Zurito on a weekly basis, if you are missing that pintxo experience Zurito does a great job of scratching that itch.