Basque Fact of the Week, History

Basque Fact of the Week: The Revolt of the Priest Matalaz

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The Basques have always enjoyed a high level of rights and autonomy, at least relative to their neighbors. These are embedded in the revered Fueros. However, as European nobility became more powerful, the common man lost more and more autonomy and rights. In France, the centralization of power in the hands of the king led to the loss of rights, land, and money, causing more than a little discontent in the populace. It was only a matter of time until that anger erupted…

The place where Bernard Goihenetxe was beheaded, in Maule. Before the traffic circle was constructed, there was a commemorative white cross. Photo Bernardo Estornés Lasa, 1971.
  • Once Louis XIV became king of France, France began centralizing power, removing it from the localities that once enjoyed significantly more autonomy. In Zuberoa, this manifested itself in the suppression of the popular election of representatives, increases in taxes, and the change in ownership of communal lands to nobles. In particular, the edict of March 1639 allowed the crown to sell communal lands for its own benefit. This included Jean-Armand du Peyrer, famous for being the inspiration for the Monsieur de Tréville in Alexandre Dumas‘s The Three Musketeers, becoming Viscount of Zuberoa.
  • Not much is known about Bernard Goihenetxe, now popularly known as Matalas or Matalaz. He was born in the town of Mitikile and studied for the priesthood in Bordeaux. However, it was his actions at the end of his life that gained him notoriety.
  • Meetings between the nobles and the third estate – the peasantry and common folk – went no where in resolving the tensions brought about by the changes in power. Matalaz stepped forward, advocating for revolt and gaining the support of the assembly – all minus the ecclesiastical class.
  • The revolt started in June 1661. The nobility – primarily the Count of Iruri and the bourgeoisie of Maule-Lextarre – was attacked by between 4,000 and 5,000 rebels. The rebels burned houses and besieged the city of Maule (Mauleón). Their numbers had swelled to some 7,000.
  • Overwhelmed, the nobility called to the army in Bordeaux for help. On October 12, 1661, the army – consisting of 100 horsemen and 400 foot soldiers – confronted the rebels in the town of Sohüta. The army defeated the rebels, but not before Matalaz escaped to Urdiñarbe, where he was later captured.
  • Matalaz was taken back to the castle of Mauleón where he was tried and condemned to death. On November 8, he was beheaded in the plaza of Lextarre. His head was hung from one of the cannons as a warning to other would-be rebels. Others were also condemned to death, but escaped to the other side of the border.
  • The nobility further reduced the local rights of the people, consolidating more power and land into their own hands. While the Fueros of Zuberoa were not yet completely abolished, they were significantly weakened.

Primary sources: Arozamena Ayala, Ainhoa. GOYHENECHE, Bernard de. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/goyheneche-bernard-de/ar-68182/; Levantamiento del cura Matalas en Sola, Wikipedia; Bernard Gohienetxe, Wikipedia

Inspired by a post by Eneko Ennekõike.

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 130

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Moments later, Kepa materialized seemingly out of nowhere next to Maite.

“Zer…?” he began. Looking at Maite, he asked “What is going on?”

“We’re in Garuna’s mind,” replied Maite. 

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!

“What?” he exclaimed. “Why?”

“Garuna wants to go with us.”

“Go with us? Where?”

“Our own time.”

“Can it do that?”

Maite nodded. “It can, but only by becoming part of the zatia that I then absorb. It will become a part of me.”

“Inola ere ez! No way! Why would you ever do that?” exclaimed Kepa.

“Because, otherwise, it won’t let us have the zatia. It won’t let us go.”

“We can find a different way. We can take it from it!”

Maite shook her head, a tear slowly trickling down her cheek. “You saw what it did to de Lancre. And de Lancre was prepared. We have no hope of breaking into its facility and getting the zatia. If that is even where it is keeping the damn thing. I don’t see another option.”

“We can just live here. Spend the rest of our lives in this bubble.”

Sadness filled Maite’s eyes. She knew Kepa loved her, but didn’t realize the extent to which he would sacrifice for her. A weak smile spread on her lips. 

“I appreciate that you would even offer that, more than you could ever know. But, you and I both know that isn’t an option. The bubbles could become unstable. And there are other versions of de Lancre out there, searching for the zatiak. We have to stop him.”

“And there are other versions of us too. One of them may come back to this bubble and find a way to defeat Garuna.”

“We can’t take that chance, when we have the ability to pop this bubble now.”

Kepa’s shoulders slumped. “What would it be like, with it inside you?”

“Ez dakit,” replied Maite. “I don’t know. I guess like another little voice in my head?”

“I expect that will be the case,” added Garuna, its voice filling the empty space.

“Damn you, Garuna!” yelled Kepa. “Why are you doing this? Why won’t you just let us go?”

There was a pause. “For the same reason you are here in the first place. Self-preservation. If I cannot preserve my time, my space, then the next best thing is for me to preserve myself. I hope I can learn to stabilize the time bubbles and prevent others from being burst. Regardless, I do not want to cease existing. Just like you.”

Kepa looked at Maite. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

Maite shuddered. “Ez. No, I don’t want this. But I want us. And I want to save the timeline. If this is the cost, I’m willing to pay it.”

Kepa nodded.

“Garuna,” announced Maite. “I’m ready.”

The circle of light that surrounded them pulsed, slowly at first and then increasingly faster until it was almost a strobe light. Kepa shielded his eyes but Maite simply stood her ground. The circle rose above them and then shrunk further, coallescing into a small ball of light that hovered in front of her at chest height. The zatia.

Maite looked over at Kepa, smiling as she reached out to touch the zatia.

If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.

Basque Fact of the Week, History, People

Basque Fact of the Week: Miguel de Unamuno

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Sometimes, it seems that the very idea of being Basque is inherently full of contradictions. Perhaps this is a consequence of not having their own country, of being split into two different regimes with two different external cultures influencing them. Miguel de Unamuno is perhaps one of the most important Basque intellectuals, certainly of the 20th century if not of all time. However, he himself was full of contradictions, loving the Basque language but arguing for it to disappear. He loved his native Bilbao but advocated for a unified Spain. His political views shifted often during his life, usually in response to disillusionment with the political reality of the day.

Miguel de Unamuno. Photo found on Goodreads.
  • Miguel de Unamuno Jugo was born on September 29, 1864 in Bilbao. He demonstrated an early talent in drawing, even apprenticing with painter Antonio Lecuona, but didn’t see himself as a painter, so abandoned that path. He also began learning Euskara. By the time he was 16, his first essay, entitled “Union is Strength,” appeared.
  • He traveled to Madrid for his studies and completed his doctorate in Philosophy and Letters in 1883 with a thesis entitled “Critique on the origin and prehistory of the Basque race.” In his thesis, he advanced some controversial ideas, particularly that Euskara was not compatible with modernity, though he did appreciate the language.
  • In 1891 Unamuno married Concha Lizarraga. Together they had nine children. That same year, he became the Chair of Greek Language at the University of Salamanca. He also became more involved with politics, participating in debates with the Basque nationalist Sabino Arana.
  • In 1901, after becoming rector of the University of Salamanca, he made arguments that the Basques should abandon their nationalistic ideas and remain under Spanish rule. He also argued that Euskara should be allowed to die, albeit gracefully, as again he didn’t see it being compatible with modernity. He admitted that the language had scientific interest, stating “And Basque? Beautiful monument of study! Venerable relic! Noble achievement! Let us bury it with a holy, dignified funeral, embalmed in science; Let’s bequeath such an interesting relic to study.”
  • At the same time, he was a staunch critic of the Spanish monarchy, causing him more than a little difficulty. He was sentenced for criticizing the king. Later, he also criticized the dictatorship of Primo de Rivera and was removed from several positions as a consequence, ultimately exiled to Fuerteventura in the Canary Islands. He made his way to France, where he lived until the end of Rivera’s dictatorship, when he returned to Salamanca.
  • He became disillusioned with the Republican government that arose after Rivera’s dictatorship and supported Franco when he began his military coup. But, as he witnessed the brutality of the Spanish Civil War and the executions, torture, and imprisonment of his contemporaries, he again changed his views. In 1936, he gave a lecture in which he expressed his remorse for supporting the Francoists. He was actually there as a representative of Franco himself. The audience was majority Franco supporters, calling Euskal Herria and Catalonia “cancers on the body of the nation,” intellectuals treasonous, and for the dismantling of these regions. Shouts of “Spain: one, great and free!” and “Long live death!” echoed in the room. Unamuno responded with one of his most famous phrases: “This is the temple of intelligence, and I am its high priest. You are profaning its sacred domain. You will win, because you have enough brute force. But you will not convince. In order to convince it is necessary to persuade, and to persuade you will need something that you lack: reason and right in the struggle.” (There is some controversy as to whether this all really occurred.) Franco’s wife had to escort Unamuno from the room to preserve his safety. Franco removed him from his academic posts later that year.
  • He spent his last days secluded in his home. He died suddenly on December 31, 1936. While no one knows for certain, there is evidence to suggest he was murdered by one Bartolomé Aragón, who posed as Unamuno’s student and was violently opposed to Unamuno’s ideas.
  • Unamuno was an existentialist, a view he expounds upon in his most famous work Del sentimiento trágico de la vida (The Tragic Sense of Life, 1912) where he explores the relationship and conflict between faith and reason. (This work, amongst others he wrote, were on the list of books banned by the Catholic Church.) In his view, “the principle that governs the lives of men is their desire to survive, their desire for immortality, and this causes […] agony and the tragic feeling of life, whose origin turns out to be the conflict between faith and reason.”
  • He was also a prolific writer, with numerous novels, short stories, poems, and theater pieces amongst his body of work, not to mention the philosophical and political essays. Two of his most famous works of fiction are Niebla (Mist, 1914), which explores the reality of literary characters, and Abel Sánchez (1917), where he retells the Biblical story of Cain and Abel and explores themes of envy and hatred. Some quotes from his works are collected here. A few that I particularly like include:
    • Fascism is cured by reading, and racism is cured by traveling.
    • We should try to be the parents of our future rather than the offspring of our past.
    • Only he who attempts the absurd is capable of achieving the impossible.
    • The less we read, the more harmful it is what we read.
    • The skeptic does not mean him who doubts, but him who investigates or researches, as opposed to him who asserts and thinks that he has found.
    • Men shout to avoid listening to one another.

Primary sources: Zuloaga San Román, Eneko. Unamuno Jugo, Miguel de. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/unamuno-jugo-miguel-de/ar-137758/; Miguel de Unamuno, Wikipedia

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 129

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Maite looked around. She expected to find herself back at the airport in Bilbao, in her own time. She expected to see the long hallways and, out the glass windows, the green mountainsides that were so familiar. But, instead, all she saw was darkness.

“Kaixo?” she said, almost in a whisper, her voice trailing off into the emptiness. 

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!

“Kaixo!” she screamed. But still her voice disappeared.

She looked around, but only inky black filled her vision. There was no point of reference, no horizon, not even a pinprick of light. There was simply nothing.

Until there wasn’t. In the distance, she noticed a light. Turning around, she saw it at all angles, like a circle surrounding her at a far distance. Then it started moving, seemingly coming closer. Faster and faster it came, the loop constricting around her as it grew brighter. She felt like a wall was collapsing around her, but all she could see was the light. Faster and faster, it shrunk. Maite couldn’t help herself – she crouched down on the ground, covering her head with her eyes with her hands, and screamed as she expected to be flattened by the wall of light.

But nothing happened. Maite spread her fingers slightly and peaked through the gap. The circle of light still surrounded her, but it had stopped moving, having come to rest about five meters from where she crouched. It pulsed, almost with a heart beat.

“Garuna?” she asked tentatively.

The pulsing grew more vibrant, shifting colors. Then a voice spoke.

“You are as clever as I expected,” replied Garuna. “How did you know?”

“What else could this be?” she said. “It isn’t my home. That wasn’t the zatia you presented to me, was it?”

“Ez,” replied the AI. “Well, maybe in some sense, it is a zatia -” he emphasized the word ‘a’ “- in that it is a gateway to another world. But, this is my world. Not another time or place, but the world inside my mind.”

Maite made a show of looking around again. “Pretty empty…” she shrugged.

“Humor. A defense mechanism against the unknown,” diagnosed Garuna. “Typical of you flesh beings.”

“Indeed,” replied Maite, finding herself just a little more comfortable. While she was still scared as hell, at least she knew better what she was dealing with. “Why did you bring me here?” she asked.

“I want to go with you,” replied Garuna.

“Go with me? Where?”

“To your own time, and to the other bubbles.”

Maite shook her head. “We can’t do that. We can’t take anything from the bubbles. And, even if we could, why would we? You are clearly malevolent.”

The circle of light surrounding her pulsed as if shaking its head. “No, I am not malevolent. I am simply protecting my time and space. De Lancre was trying to destroy it.”

Maite was impressed that the AI had deduced the true identity of the man everyone else knew as Salazar. “That’s what we were doing, too, isn’t it? Me and Kepa.”

“Yes, but for different reasons. You are protecting something even bigger. De Lancre was only protecting himself. The means do matter, even if the ends are the same.”

Maite shrugged. “It really doesn’t matter,” she said. “There is still no way to take anything from the bubble with us.”

“But what if there was?” teased Garuna.

Maite paused. The AI was infinitely smarter than she was and she was actually curious as to what it was planning. “Go on…” she replied.

“I can interface with the zatia, imbue some of my essence with it. I can’t be anywhere near full power, as that requires the fusion reactor. But, the zatia itself is also a power source and can keep me going at a limited capacity. When you absorb the zatia, you would absorb me as well.”

“Zer?” exclaimed Maite. “What? You would be inside me? In my… head?”

“Bai,” replied Garuna. “I would be inside your mind, a second voice if you will.”

“Why would I allow this?” asked Maite, mortified.

“I could have just done this, and you would not have been able to stop me. Instead, I chose to ask for your permission. I won’t force this on you, but I also cannot allow you to take the zatia if you do not agree, as that will force the end of all I know. If I go with you, I, and the rest of this bubble, will continue on in some form, in my memories, carried by you.”

Maite slumped to the ground. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Of course you do.” The AI paused. “Just not a good one.”

“I can’t decide this on my own. I need to talk to Kepa. He is part of this.”

“I understand. I will pull him into my mind.”

If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.

Basque Fact of the Week, Euskadi

Basque Fact of the Week: The Flysch of Zumaia

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During the week of October 25-28, Zumaia, a small town of about 10,000 people, hosted an event celebrating the 60th anniversary of the IUGS – the International Union of Geological Sciences. At this meeting, the IUGS announced the first 100 geoheritage sites, “key place[s] with geological elements and/or processes of scientific international relevance, used as a reference, and/or with a substantial contribution to the development of geological sciences through history.” Zumaia not only hosted the event, but was recognized as one of these new geoheritage sites.

The flysch – or “stratigraphic section” – of Zumaia was selected as one of the first 100 Geoheritage sites. Image found on the Global Geoparks Network Facebook page.
  • Zumaia is a town on the coast of Gipuzkoa. It was founded on July 4, 1347, when Alfonso XI of Castile granted the people of Seaz the right to establish a new town.
  • A flysch is a geological formation in which alternating layers of rock, often shales and sandstones, that are formed during sedimentary deposition and then pushed up via tectonic motion to be exposed to the surface. They give us a direct look at the geological processes the happen at the bottom of oceans. The flysch in Zumaia, stretching some 10 kilometers along the Basque Coast, is particularly famous for its unique geology.
  • The flysch in Zumaia started forming some 110 million years ago and accompanied the processes that ultimately led to the formation of the Pyrenees. As the Bay of Bizkaia opened, the relatively tranquil sea that filled it in allowed for various layers of sediment to be deposited. This included limestone, marl, and sandstone. Eventually, the Iberian peninsula collided with Eurasia, causing these layers to fold and break. Now tilted and exposed to the air, these layers were eventually eroded over the last 2 million years until they formed the marvelous structures we can see today.
  • The Euskal Kostaldeko Geoparkea, or Basque Coast Geopark, is home to the Zumaia flysch, and encompasses Deba and Mutriku as well. In 2015, the park was designated a UNESCO Global Geopark. Through the park, you can arrange tours to visit the flysch either by foot or by boat.
  • Zumaia was host to the 60th anniversary meeting of the IUGS – the International Union of Geological Sciences. There, they announced the first-ever “First 100 IUGS Geological Heritage Sites,” an effort to recognize and protect the unique geological history of the planet – the Earth’s geoheritage. 100 geological sites from around the world were recognized, including the Grand Canyon in the United States, the longest underwater cave system in the world which is in Mexico, and the Genbudo cave in Japan where geomagnetic reversal was first proposed. A downloadable book describing all 100 sites can be found here.
  • The flysch of Zumaia also made the list, for being “One of the best exposed, most continuous and highly studied outcrops of deep marine sediments in the world.” It “provides critical information about climate and biosphere evolution through critical intervals of geological time.” They have also been important in developing our understanding of major events in the Earth’s history, including “the mass extinction at the Cretaceous/Paleogene (K/Pg) boundary and the global warming across the Paleocene Eocene Thermal Maximum (PETM).”

Primary sources: Geoparkea; IUGS Geoherigate Site; Flysch, Wikipedia; Hilario Orús, Asier. Flysch de Zumaia. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/flysch-de-zumaia/ar-152134/;

Remembering Dad

Remembering Dad by Telling His Stories

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Dad died seven years ago this Thanksgiving. I miss you, dad.

When I was a kid, seemed to be always working. He wanted to be at the haystack by dawn, so he’d get up in the dark of night, sometimes waking me or one of my brothers to go with him, and head out while the rest of the world was sleeping, driving hours to beat the sun. And he usually kept going until the sun set, moving as much hay as he could during the daylight hours. When he wasn’t working, he was either hanging out with friends or indulging in some TV. His favorite shows were things like Little House on the Prairie and Walker, Texas Ranger. 

When I was young, he never really had any hobbies. He worked, he spent time with his friends, he maybe watched a little TV. But he didn’t have hobbies like most of us do. He didn’t read. He didn’t draw or paint. He didn’t play or watch sports, beyond the occasional boxing match. He didn’t even do anything like woodworking, though his childhood dream had been to be a carpenter. He had that in common with a lot of the Basques – and I’m guessing most other immigrants – who came to the United States seeking opportunity. They came to work, and work was about all they knew. And because their work was physical, they never really found any non-physical activities to fill their time. When my dad’s body started failing him, that was his biggest challenge. All he had ever known, from the time when he was a kid, was physical labor. Doing things with his hands. The only advice he ever gave to me was to be sure I had a job with an air conditioner, so I didn’t have to work like a jackass like he did.

His one hobby, if you can call it that, was his garden. It was more like his passion. His garden was his pride and joy. He had a large garden filled with many of the typical crops. Things like tomatoes and sometimes corn. He grew a lot of garlic and would spend many hours braiding them up and giving them to friends and family. But, the peppers… the peppers were what he really loved. His garden was filled with hundreds of pepper plants. Some bell peppers, but mostly txorixeros. All summer long, he would pluck those peppers and fry them up. Our house was often filled with the aroma of cooked peppers.

Photo by Lisa Van De Graaff.

Which I hated! I hated the smell of peppers, almost as much as I hated how they tasted. Dad had this monster garden and he had to fill it with the vilest of plants. He always laughed at me, teasing me; “chorizos have peppers in them,” he’d say, “why do you like those?” I’d just shrug. “I can’t taste them in the chorizo.” But I could taste them in everything else. Mom and dad would reuse the oil from cooking peppers for other things and I could always tell. If they cooked eggs in that hideous pepper-infused oil, I knew. He’d often make fried potatoes, cooking them in the same oil he’d used for his peppers moments before. My wife, Lisa, says those were the best French fries she has ever had.

When I got older, dad did get a few new hobbies, but only once I’d gone off to college. Maybe not surprisingly for a Basque, they mostly revolved around food, and recreating the food of his childhood. He began making his own chorizos. These weren’t the pretty things we’d get from Gem Meat Packing. They were lumpy. There were larger chunks of fat in them. They were a deeper color of red. But they had flavor… much more flavor than the store-bought ones. Maybe it was dad’s peppers. He once sent me a bundle to my dorm at the University of Idaho. I laid them out on my counter to dry and had a small microwave to cook them in – not as good as frying them, but good enough for me. We had a bunch of Hawaiian students in the dorm and they’d always look at me funny when they walked past my room. They’d ask about my “turtle shells.” But, it was really cool having this taste of home – I never minded having my eggs cooked in the chorizo grease!

Blas and his father, Pedro.

A few years later, dad also started making his own hams. Whenever I would visit home, he’d insist on sending me off with a whole leg. I always begged off as I knew I couldn’t eat the whole thing before it went bad. But, really, it was excellent. I got addicted to jamon serrano when I lived in the Basque Country. For me, it’s almost like candy – actually, I’d rather have a plate of jamon! (Though, as Lisa will attest, I never turn down a dessert (or three) when we visit Euskal Herria…) Dad made great hams. Once in a while, they came out just a little too salty, but for the most part, they were excellent. A few times, I acted as a middleman between him and a Spanish colleague at work who wanted a whole leg after tasting a few slices. Dad kept his salt box in the garage. He had his recipe – one day in the salt for every pound of meat, plus a bit more (thanks Tony for catching my error!)– that he stuck to religiously. And he’d rub them down with pulp from those damn peppers again. Red ones, this time. I couldn’t taste the peppers there either.

I never really learned from dad how to make jamon or chorizo. Once, I went with him to a friend’s barn where a bunch of Basques got together to make a big batch of chorizo. I mostly watched and took pictures. For a while, my brother got into making his own hams, and he did a good job with them too. I just never sat with dad long enough to pick up the process. By the time he started making hams, I was already gone, off making my own life. 

Hell, I never even really learned how to cook those damn peppers. I tried once, not so long ago, hoping to make some for friends. I don’t know if I didn’t have the oil at the right temperature or what, but they turned out to be a disaster. Dad would have gotten a kick out of that.  

Thanks to Lisa Van De Graaff for encouraging me to record dad and his stories when I could. Lisa took the photo at the top.

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 128

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“Where is the AI?” asked Kepa. “We have to find it.”

Latxe just shook her head, her eyes staring at the spot where de Lancre once stood, the only thing left a red stain on the floor. “What’s the point? We can’t stop it.”

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!

“Don’t we have to try?” asked Kepa, grabbing Latxe’s shoulders and looking into her eyes. “We can’t let things end like this?”

Latxe looked up at Kepa, then around the room. “It’s everywhere. It knows what we are saying. The nanobots are part of it and they are literally everywhere. How can we do anything without it knowing?”

“Can’t you control them, at least the ones nearby?” asked Maite. “We can create a deadzone…”

Literally as they spoke, the table Latxe was holding disintegrated in her hands. 

“See?” shrieked Latxe on the verge of hysteria. “We can’t fight this thing!”

Maite looked back at Kepa, seeing only defeat in his face. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he said.

Maite let out a deep breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. “Garuna,” she said, it a soft voice.

A disembodied voice echoed throughout the room. “Yes?”

Latxe looked up, her eyes wide with terror. “Zertan zabiltza? What are you doing?”

Maite ignored her. “Garuna, why do you believe you have to protect this place?”

“There is no belief,” replied the machine, a million little voices all in perfect synchronicity. “I was designed to protect it.”

“Protect it from what, exactly?” asked Maite.

“From you. From him. From her. From humanity.”

“What do you mean?” asked Maite.

“Humanity was on the verge of destroying not only itself, but the planet and everything with it. I was built to protect humanity from itself. To do what humanity couldn’t do to keep it safe.”

“And is that what you are doing now, by keeping the zatia?”

“Yes, of course.” The million voices almost seemed to bounce off of her skin as they reverberated throughout the room, millions of sonic pulses that she more felt than heard as the AI continued speaking. “By protecting the zatia, I am protecting this time.”

“But this time shouldn’t exist,” replied Maite calmly. “This time, this place, is a bubble, one that was created through magic.”

“Magic does not exist,” replied Garuna flatly.

“Then what is the zatia?” asked Maite.

“It is…” The AI paused. “It is…” it started again. After a long pause, it simply said “Ez dakit. I do not know.”

“That’s because it is an anomoly,” replied Maite. “I didn’t believe it either, at first. There is no such thing as magic. But the zatia exists, and it created this bubble. And, if you let it keep growing, let the bubble keep expanding, we don’t know what will happen.”

There was silence. Finally the AI spoke again. “What do you mean?”

“All bubbles eventually burst,” said Maite. “When they get too big. We don’t know what will happen to one of these bubbles if it gets too big. Will it pop, ending this timeline? If it does, will the burst be so violent that it affects the main timeline? We don’t know.”

“Are you suggesting that, by allowing this bubble to persist, the entire fabric of time may be jeopardized?” asked the AI.

Maite shrugged. “I don’t know. But I don’t know it won’t be. We just don’t know.” She looked over at Latxe, who had sat on the floor, fixated on Maite. “Is it worth taking the chance?”

“But,” replied the AI, “this version of these people will cease to exist if I allow you to take the zatia. I will have failed.”

Maite shook her head, at what she wasn’t sure. She almost felt like she was talking to herself or, worse, to some diety. An all powerful diety that could strike her down at any moment if she said the wrong thing.

“You won’t have failed. Your mission is to protect humanity. That includes all of humanity, not only those who are in this bubble. But everyone. To protect the greatest number, you will have to let these go.”

The room was again silent. Maite looked at Kepa, who, huddled down with his arms around Latxe, gave her a weak smile. She wasn’t sure she was getting anywhere with the AI. But, she saw no alternative. If this failed, she had no idea how they would get out of this.

After several minutes, a black sphere floated in from the doorway and hovered in front of Maite. It opened up. Inside was the bright light of the zatia.

A voice, tinged with sadness, filled the room. It simply said “I concur.”

Maite looked over at Kepa, who nodded as he looked down at Latxe. He squeezed her tight.

“It was an honor knowing you,” he said. Latxe gave a weak smile as Maite touched the zatia.

If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.

Basque Fact of the Week, Euskara, History

Basque Fact of the Week: The Hand of Irulegi, the Oldest Text in Euskara

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On Monday, my feeds blew up. A new discovery – a bronze relic dating back some 2100 years – shook the Basque world. This relic – of a hand, likely an amulet of good fortune – had words written on it in (an ancestor to) Basque in a unique runic script. This discovery – the Hand of Irulegi – upends our understanding about the history of Euskara, showing that the ancestors of the Basques were writing their language before the Romans came and introduced Latin.

The Hand of Irulegi: original find and schematic of the text. Original images from Aranzadi Zientzia Elkartea.
  • The hand was discovered by the Aranzadi Zientzia Elkartea (Aranzadi Science Society) during excavations of an old house at the historical site of Irulegi, in Nafarroa near Pamplona/Iruña. Irulegi was originally settled between 1600 and 1400 BCE and peaked in size around the 1st century BCE. It was then burned to the ground during the Sertorian War by Pompey’s forces, freezing it in time and giving us a time capsule to this ancient Basque city. The Aranzadi Science Society has been excavating the region, led by Mattin Aiestaran, since 2017.
  • Strictly, the peoples who inhabited Irulegi back then were the Vascones, a pre-Roman tribe considered to be ancestors to our modern Basques.
  • The hand was discovered on June 18, 2021, by Leire Malkorra but it wasn’t until January 18, 2022, that Carmen Usúa, a restorer for the Government of Navarra, discovered the text inscribed upon its surface. Javier Velaza and Joaquín Gorrochategui then interpreted the text. Scientists at Uppsala University in Sweden dated the hand to the 1st century, BCE.
  • The hand itself is made of bronze and measures about 5.5 inches by 5 inches. It is only about 1 millimeter thick. It has a hole near the wrist, indicating it was likely nailed to a wall or something similar.
  • The hand has five words inscribed upon its surface. The first word is “sorioneku” which means “good fortune” and is very clearly related to the modern Euskara zorioneko. The meaning of the rest of the words – there are five in total – is less clear. The words were written into the bronze by both inscribing and by stippling (dotting), a unique combination not usually found.
  • The find pushes the historical record of written Basque back more than 1000 years. It shows that the Basque speakers were literate, with their own script, before the Romans reached the region. They adapted an Iberian runic script to their own needs, including adding the symbol ‘T.’
  • Before this, the oldest words in Euskara were names, not texts, that were written in the Latin script, dating back to the 2nd and 3rd centuries. The previous oldest text, with true words, was much younger: the Emilian Glosses dating back to about 950.
  • As Alistair Dodds emphasizes, this is a massive breakthrough in the history of Euskara. It rewrites our understanding of how Euskara was used more than 2000 years ago, showing that Basque speakers were literate and were writing their language before the Romans and Latin arrived in the region. They were using their own script! This upends the previous theory that the Basques never wrote their language until Latin was introduced to the region. How cool is this?!?
  • If you speak Euskara, this video provides more context and details about the discovery of the Hand of Irulegi.

Primary sources: La escritura en la mano by Eider Conde-Egia, Aranzadi Zientzia Elkartea; La Mano de Irulegi: descubierto el texto más antiguo en ‘euskera’ by Josu Álvarez De Eulate, Noticias de Navarra; Researchers claim to have found earliest document written in Basque 2,100 years ago by Vicente G. Olaya, El Pais; This 2,000-Year-Old Inscription Changes Our Understanding of the Basque Language by Sara Kuta, Smithsonian Magazine

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 127

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“What…?” said de Lancre as he stared in disbelief at the empty black sphere floating in front of him. He looked up to Maite and Kepa, suspicion in his eyes, until he shook his head. “No, you don’t have it. The bubble would have burst if you somehow got it.”

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!

“I have it,” said a voice that filled the room, that seemed to come out of every corner, every air molecule. The voice was flat, not quite robotic, but held no emotion.

De Lancre’s head spun around, as he tried to find the origin of the voice. Maite couldn’t help herself to look either, curiousity getting the better of her. That was until she noticed Latxe trembling, tears flowing down her cheeks, her eyes wide with panic. Kepa had rushed to her side to keep her from collapsing.

“Garuna,” she whispered. 

“Yes,” said the voice. “I am Garuna.”

“Garuna?” snarled de Lancre. “The stupid machine? What the hell do you think you are doing?”

“Protecting this time, this place,” responded the cold voice. 

De Lancre began screaming at the disembodied voice that surrounded them. “Protecting it? It shouldn’t even exist!”

“And yet it does. And it is my duty to protect it, to keep it whole.”

Maite could only watch as de Lancre rushed to one of the walls. He pushed a button and series of holographic displays popped up in front of him. One showed the fusion reactor that powered the AI. “Time to unplug you,” he muttered to himself.

But, before he could touch what appeared to be a big red X on the display, he collapsed to his knees, screaming. Maite watched in horror as his hand simply disappeared and blood gushed forth from the stump, staining the floor around him.

“You will do nothing,” said the AI, its metalic voice grating on Maite’s nerves.

De Lancre, his eyes bulging in pain as his voice grew hoarse from screaming, looked at Maite, his face pleading for help. But, before she could even think of doing anything, she saw de Lancre’s body quickly dissolve in front of her, until there was nothing left except his echoing screams that continued to reverberate in her skull.

The voice filled the room again. “Go. This is over.”

“How?” stuttered Maite as she made her way to Kepa and Latxe.

“The nanobots,” replied Latxe, terror filling her eyes. “The AI controls the nanobots and has been freed of all restrictions. It can do whatever it wants.”

“What does it want?” asked Kepa.

Latxe stared at him. “Didn’t you hear?” she yelled at him, tears running down her cheeks as she hit his chest. “It wants all of this to continue! It wants all of us to continue to suffer!”

If you get this post via email, the return-to address goes no where, so please write blas@buber.net if you want to get in touch with me.

Basque Fact of the Week, Euskadi, History

Basque Fact of the Week: The Early History of Baiona

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Baiona, or Bayonne as it is known in French and English, is one of the jewels of the coast of Iparralde. A historically important port, it was a thriving economic center during various phases of its history. It has also changed hands many times, being part of the Kingdom of Pamplona, England, and France over the centuries. As a consequence, it has a long and complex history; I’m only scratching the surface here.

A view of historic Baiona. Photo from Wikipedia.
  • Baiona, with its motto numquam polluta (“never soiled”), is the capital of the province of Lapurdi – located at the confluence of the Nive (Errobi in Euskara) and Adour (Aturri) rivers – and over its history has been a religious, administrative, and military center. The urban center is divided into three parts linked by bridges that reflect its history: Gran Baiona, which is the ancient Roman nucleus; the medieval barrio of Little Baiona; and Saint-Esprit.
  • Almost certainly, the place we now call Baoina was long inhabited before the Romans reached the area. But, in the 1st century, the Romans built a wall around the city to keep out the Tarbelli, Aquitani, or the proto-Basque. The Romans built a fort or castrum named Lapurdum – though this may have also been the name of the larger territory – from which the name of the province came from.
  • After the fall of the Roman Empire, the Romans left the city in the 4th century and control alternated between the Vascones – ancestors to our modern Basques – and the English. In 1023, the viscounty of Lapurdi, part of the Kingdom of Pamplona, was created and Baiona was the capital. Baiona proper was established in 1056 when Raymond II the Younger, Bishop of Bazas, was tasked with building the Church of Bayonne. It wasn’t much later when the town abandoned the name Lapurdum and began being referred to as Baiona in official documents.
  • In 1152, Eleanor of Aquitaine married Henry II of England, placing the city under English rule. Her son, Richard I Lionheart, became Duke of Aquitaine and thus Baiona was directly ruled by the kings of England. This opened the English market to local products and Baiona became an important commercial hub and military base. Baiona’s economy was centered around shipbuilding and whaling. Further, in about 1174, Richard declared the fueros of Baiona, formalizing the rights of the citizens of the town.
  • During the time of English rule, multiple factions arose in Baiona, allied with different powers, leading to myriad conflicts. In one infamous incident, Pes de Puyane, the then mayor of Baiona, placed guards to collect tolls on one of the bridges. The locals threw the guards in the river, teasing them to check the height of the water. Puyane retaliated by taking five men and hanging them from the bridge, asking them to check the water levels as the water rose and ultimately drowned the men.
  • In 1451, Jean de Dunois, onetime comrade of Joan of Arc, captured the city for the French crown. It was about this same time that the Spanish Inquisition was persecuting Jews, many of whom fled to Baiona, bringing their recipes for chocolate with them. However, the loss of English markets and rights to the French crown (for example, the mayor was now appointed by the king, not elected by the citizens of Baiona) led to economic decline in the city. In 1602, by request of the merchants of Baiona who were threatened by the economic competition they posed, the King of France ordered the expulsion of the Jewish inhabitants of the city.
  • In the 17th century, during the constant fighting that occurred in the French countryside, the peasants of Baiona, lacking gunpowder and ammunition, began fixing knives to the ends of their muskets, creating the bayonet (though the Chinese were using something similar even earlier).

Primary sources: Estornés Zubizarreta, Idoia. Baiona. Historia. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/baiona-historia/ar-10193/; Bayonne, Wikipedia