Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 176

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“It’s sort of like a cheat code,” mused Kepa as Amalur hovered above their bed expectantly. “You know, in video games, there are times where they right combination of moves opens up an Easter egg.”

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!

Maite turned to look at him. “You think this is all some kind of game?”

Kepa shrugged. “Not a game, exactly, but maybe it’s all some kind of program, some kind of Matrix-like virtual world. And I inadvertantly tapped into some parallel world.”

“I’ve seen some scientists argue that we are living in a simulation,” mused Maite. “I personally never believed it.”

Garuna rumbled in the back of Maite’s head. “This is no simulation. Of that I am sure.”

Maite repeated the AI’s words outloud for Kepa’s benefit. “Garuna says this isn’t a simulation.”

“Ok,” replied Kepa, “but then what does this mean?” He waved his hand in the general direction of Amalur. “She’s here.”

“Has she said anything since you conjured her? Besides ‘agur’?” asked Maite.

Kepa shook his head. “To be honest, I really haven’t tried to engage her. She barely appeared before you got home.”

Maite nodded as she turned to look at the dazzling form of Eguzki, her beauty almost painful to look at. “Why are you here?”

“I was summoned,” replied the unearthly figure as it slowly morphed into Ilargi, a visage that was equally as beautiful but easier to behold. At times, Maite couldn’t tell if there were three distinct beings or if they were all three present all the time and the one she saw was a matter of how her eye focused. It reminded her of those optical illusions where you saw either a duck or a rabbit depending on how you focused on the image.

“And?” asked Kepa. “What happens now?”

“Why was I summoned?” asked Amalur.

“No reason,” responded Kepa. “I summoned you by accident.”

“Then I will go,” replied Amalur as she began to fade.

“Ez! Wait!” exclaimed Maite.

The floating vision wavered for a moment, almost flickering, before it again solidified. 

“Bai?” it asked.

Maite didn’t know what she should ask but she didn’t want Amalur to leave yet. 

“Are you magic?” she asked.

“What is magic?” asked Amalur in reply. “There is no magic. There is simply the manipulation of energy.”

“Energy?” Maite sat, pondering for a moment. “Do you mean the conversion of energy from one type to another?”

“Energy is energy. There is no difference. Just how it is manifested.”

Maite turned to Kepa. “In physics, there is a theorem that all energy is conserved, that if you lose one type you gain another. Maybe magic is way to change that balance?”

“To break conservation?” asked Kepa.

“Not exactly,” replied Maite. “Maybe it is to control the flow of energy, to overcome entropy.”

“I’m not following,” interjected Kepa, looking thoroughly confused.

“Energy is always conserved, but entropy is always increasing. This means that energy is converted into forms that are less useful, like through friction, that increases entropy. Maybe magic lets us control or even reverse that loss. Think about it like this. Maybe magic lets us take energy from the air around us and turn it into more useful forms.”

“Like light and electricity?” asked Kepa.

Maite nodded. “Maybe.” She looked up at Amalur who appeared to her now in her earthly mother form. She was smiling at Maite.

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, Folklore

Basque Fact of the Week: Amalur, Mother Earth

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Basque mythology can be a bit daunting to delve in to. The problem is that not much was written down and the bits we do have – much thanks to amazing ethnographers such as José Miguel de Barandiaran Ayerbe – are tangled threads of stories where characters and themes have merged and split many times, resulting in a mishmash of ideas. This is certainly the case with Amalur. Often conflated with Mari, she does seem to be a distinct entity in some stories. While both are Mother Earth figures, Amalur is the mother of the sun and the moon while Mari has Sugaar as her consort. We may never really know what prehistoric Basques really believed about the cosmos around them, but through the work of people like Barandiaran, we know more than we might have.

Amalur with her children Ilargi and Eguzki. Image originally from the book Mitologika. Una visión contemporánea de los seres mágicos de Euskadi
  • Amalur, Ama Lur, or Ama Lurra all literally mean “Mother Earth” in Basque. Legend has it that Amalur first created the moon, Ilargi, as a way of scaring away monsters that were harassing people. However, the monsters soon became used to the light of the moon and came back to bother people. They again pleaded with Amalur to help, so she created Eguzki, the sun. And this worked – the monsters stayed away, at least when the sun was out. But at night, the monsters again returned. Once more, the people pleaded for help and this time Amalur created the Eguzkilore, literally the “sun flower,” which people could pick and put on their doors to keep the monsters away at all times.
  • Thus, by helping out the humans that pleaded to her, Amalur is the mother of the sisters the sun and the moon, who each return to her each day as the other leaves.
  • Amalur is a giant vessel that contains the power of life, making it so plants and animals can exist. She also contains vast treasure, and people often delve deep into caves searching for that treasure, though without ever finding it. People would leave coins behind in caves as an offering to Amalur, in the hope that she might favor them.
  • Amalur and Mari are often confused in stories, making it hard to distinguish the two. They may simply be the same deity, the same mother goddess, or they may be distinct personifications of Mother Earth. Amalur as a name for this goddess is relatively new, perhaps coined by Nestor Basterretxea and Fernando Larrukert in their 1968 film Ama Lur. Whether they coined the name or not, it seems that their film made the name popular. What seems clear, however, is that the Basques of the Roman times worshipped a mother goddess. In Pamplona, there is an inscription on an alter with the words “MAtri Deae,” or Magna Mater, the Great Mother.
  • In some interpretations, Amalur, or the Earth, contains everything, is everything, while Mari, as the personification of the energies and the forces that circulate throughout the world and all living beings, is her soul, in some sense.
  • When the Romans came to the Iberian peninsula, their own goddess Cybele (“imported” from other cultures), also a mother goddess, might have been mixed with Mari/Amalur. Separating all of these different personas becomes quite challenging. Mari, in an incarnation closer to Amalur, has been described as dressed elegantly and carrying a golden palace in her hand. Cybele has been described similarly in other contexts.
  • You can visit some of the most important sites related to Mari/Amalur with this map as a guide.

Primary sources: Amalur, Wikipedia; Eguzkilore: The Flower that Protects the Basques, About Basque Country; La Mitología Vasco en la Actualidad, Luis Garagalza, KOBIE (Serie Antropología Cultural). Bilbao
Bizkaiko Foru Aldundia-Diputación Foral de Bizkaia N.° XII, pp. 135 a 148, año 2006/7.

Food

A Basque Twist on a Classic Cocktail

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A Basque Bamboo, photo by Lizzie Munro, found on Punch.

A random article I stumbled across describes a Basque twist on a classic cocktail. The Bamboo, created by German bartender Louis Eppinger possibly in the mid-1800s in San Francisco if not a bit later in Japan, consists of “equal measures of dry vermouth and dry sherry, plus a couple dashes of bitters.” Brooklyn’s Bar Vinazo has created a new version that adds a bit of Basque flavor. As Mary Anne Porto describes, the Basque Bamboo adds Basque cider to the mix. The co-owner of Bar Vinazo, Joe Campanale “describes it as a cross between the Martini-like classic and a spritz, and it shares the sensibilities of both: It inhabits the casual air of aperitivo, now with a light jacket.” Something to try out!

Basque Fact of the Week, Fiestas

Basque Fact of the Week: The Feria of Santo Tómas

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One of the biggest events to open the Christmas season in the Basque Country is the Feria of Santo Tómas, a rural market in the heart of the city. Originating in Gipuzkoa – more specifically Donostia – it has spread as a celebration throughout the Basque Country. Today, the Feria is a celebration of rural Basque traditions. People pull out their baserritarrak costumes – dressing as aitxitxa and amuma – and celebrate the baserri way of life. But the origins lie in the tradition of collecting rents on this day…

Some images from the Feria of Santo Tómas. From San Sebastián Turismoa. At least some of the images were taken by Javier Larrea.
  • In olden times, December 21 was chosen as the date that renters had to go and pay their land lords. Why December 21? Well, the religious calendar guided people’s lives and the feast day of Saint Thomas was both close to Christmas and to the end of the year (I guess one implies the other…) It was far enough ahead of Christmas itself that people could get back home in time for the holiday. It seemed like a good day to collect the year’s payment.
  • However, picking a specific date like this meant that a large number of people traveled to the cities to settle their accounts. This then led to opportunities to do some shopping, to buy goods and other things that were harder to find in their smaller outlying villages – things like nougats, trinkets and toys, and more exotic foods such as figs, pomegranates, and nuts. At the same time, the baserritarrak – the rural villagers – would bring their goods, primarily foodstuffs, to sell to the city dwellers. Out of this extra bustle came the Feria, the Fair, of Santo Tómas.
  • The oldest mention is that of Donostia, in the early 1800s. However, given the fact that Donostia burned and lost many of its records in 1813, it is fair to think that the Feria had been going on for some time by then.
  • The merchants of Donostia, seeing opportunity in the large number of visitors with money, took their wares to the street, assembling in the Plaza de la Constitución. Merchants began adding attractions to pull in prospective shoppers. Musicians and singers became part of the Fair. So did traditional athletes such as the harri-jasotzaileak, or stone-lifters.
  • In the mid 1900s, the Feria experienced an existential crisis of sorts. It had turned into almost a carnival, in which all kinds of things were sold, not just traditional products but all sorts of things, such as masks and costumes and the like. However, it was decided to keep the more traditional character and those types of non-Basque, non-rural products were banned. Today, stalls sell a range of products from fruits and vegetables, to farming tools, with exhibitions of birds, livestock, flowers, and plants added more recently.
  • Until the end of Franco’s regime, December 21 was one of two days on which it was allowed to present theater in the Basque language, the other being January 20, the Tamborrada.
  • Food is a big part of the Feria. Traditionally, those landowners would give cod to their renters while those renters gave the owners, in turn, capons – a type of male chicken. However, today the txistorra dominates the festival. Maybe in the old days it was accompanied by roasted chestnuts but today talo, a corn flatbread sort of like a Mexican tortilla, is served with the txistorra. The perfect drink to go with the txistorra is a glass of cider.
  • More recently, the Feria of Santo Tómas spread to other parts of the Basque Country. In particular, the Feria of Bilbo has become quite large and popular.

Primary sources: Sada Anguera, Javier María. Feria de Santo Tomás. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/feria-de-santo-tomas/ar-154130/

Basque Fact of the Week, Food

Basque Fact of the Week: Txakolin, the Basque White Wine

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One of the unique pleasures of the Basque Country is all of the wonderful tastes it has to offer. I’ve written about some of the unique drinks you can find only in the Basque Country. Txakolin, or txakoli as it is more commonly known, is perhaps the most well known, having found its way across the globe. We were even able to find it in our local liquor store here in Santa Fe! Our last stop in our visit to the Basque Country before getting on the plane was El Txakoli, where we toasted to an amazing trip! Here’s to the next one!

A glass of txakolin at the El Txakoli restaurant. Photo by Lisa Van De Graaff.
  • According to the Real Academia, txakolin is a “Light, somewhat sour wine that is made in the Basque Country, Cantabria and Chile.” It is a dry white wine that has a high acidity and low alcohol content.
  • Historically, it was called txakolin wine – it was Sabino Arana who proposed, roughly in 1895, to drop the n and call it txakoli. Though vineyards in the Basque Country are attested from Roman times, the first historical mention of txakolin dates to 1520.
  • There is one apocryphal anecdote about the origins of the name, as told to Basque ethnologist José Uría Irastorza by an old Txakolinero – someone who makes txakolin. Supposedly, when the winemaker was asked “How much wine have you made?” it was customary to respond: “Etxeko ain,” that is, just enough for home. From “etxeko ain” it became “etxekolain” and ended up being called “txakolin.”
  • The alcohol content of txakolin is only about 7%, about 2% too little to formally be called wine. However, the Estatuto de la Viña of 1970 made txakolin an exception, allowing the relatively weaker drink to be called wine.
  • There are essentially two variants of txakolin. Historically, txakolin wine was made from grapes that simply weren’t good enough for anything else. They may have been damaged by hail, for example, or just were of bad quality. This wine was despairingly compared to vinegar. However, modern txakolin is made from specific strains of grapes grown under specific climate and land conditions. It has even received a Denomination of Origin.
  • In past times – we are talking of the 1400s or even before – no other wine could be imported or sold in the province of Gipuzkoa until all of the txakolin wine had been consumed. This protected the local production from outside competition. However, the wine was considered so “thin and weak” and “raw” by the clergy that it was banned from being used in Catholic mass. Further, some Basques considered the txakolin wines so bad that in 1584 they petitioned to have the rule against importing other wines overturned, saying even the owners of the vineyards didn’t want to drink their own wine.
  • The most common varieties of grapes used in making txakolin are the Hondarrabi Zuri (between 85-90% of strains) and Hondarrabi Beltza (between 10-15%). In Bizkaia, Folle Blanche are also used. These strains are only found along the Basque coast and in Béarn, in France.
  • The grapes, once pressed, were given to animals for feed, but this had to be done relatively quickly so as to prevent fermentation and making the animals drunk.
  • Txakolin is a magnificent aperitif: its acidity stimulates the production of saliva and the secretion of gastric juices, preparing the body for better digestion. It also aids in the assimilation of proteins (meat, fish, etc.) thanks to its ionic acidity and its weak osmotic pressure.

Primary sources: Aguirre Sorondo, Antxon. Txakoli. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/txakoli/ar-132636/; Txakoli, Wikipedia

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 175

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Maite panted as she reached the apartment door. She wasn’t sure why, but the steps up to the apartment were always the hardest. She was always tempted to take the elevator but had yet to succumb to that temptation, pushing herself to climb the four flights of stairs up to their floor.

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!

She pushed open the door. “I’m back!” she called as she threw her keys on the table and made her way to the bedroom. The shower at the end of the run was always the best part.

She stopped in her tracks as she passed through the bedroom doorway. Kepa was up on his knees in bed, naked, but that wasn’t the strangest part. The spectre of a woman floated in front of him, seemingly oblivious to his nakedness. Maite could see through her to the bathroom on the other side. The apparition was of a young woman with tanned skin and long blond hair that flowed behind her as if a gentle breeze lifted it up off of her shoulders. She was dressed in a loosely fitting golden, almost metallic gown that also flowed down and across her body, rippling as if some unseen force was pushing at her. As Maite stared in disbelief, the woman’s image shifted. The almost golden hair turned raven black and her skin, almost glowing, turned pale and white. Her gown also changed from bright gold to silver. 

“Kepa…?” squeaked Maite as she just stood there, dumbfounded.

Both Kepa and the floating woman turned to look at her.

Maite pointed at Kepa’s waist. “You’re naked,” she stammered.

Kepa blushed as he pulled the sheets around him. He then turned back to Maite. “Maite, this is Amalur and her daughters Eguzki and Ilargi.”

The woman, who had looked quizically at Kepa as he covered himself, turned back to Maite. “Agur,” said the woman, greeting her formally in Euskara. Maite could understand the woman’s dialect, but it had a flavor of something ancient.

Maite wasn’t sure if she should bow or what, so she simply replied “Agur.” As she did so, the woman shifted again, this time to a somewhat older woman who wore earthy colors. Her hair was long and brown and full of curls which bounced in the unseen force that seemed to buffet her. She was as beautiful as her daughters, but had a sadness in her eyes that betrayed some suffering that her daughters had been spared.

“So,” began Kepa as he stood up off the bed, the sheets clutched in his hand as he tried to cover his nakedness. “I was goofing around, drawing symbols in the air with my magical finger, and she popped in.”

Maite’s brain still seemed to be short circuiting. “Magical finger?” was all she could muster.

Kepa held up his hand, his index finger extended. It began to glow. “The zatia…?” he ventured.

“Ah, bai,” Maite nodded. She shook her head to break the fog. “You drew the Amalur symbol with that finger,” she continued, putting the pieces together.

Kepa nodded. “And then she appeared.”

“I guess I’m glad you didn’t draw some symbol of an evil demon or something,” said Maite as she plopped down on the edge of the bed. She looked up at Amalur, who floated above them.

“Now what?” she asked.

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: Artxanda, a Green Oasis in Bilbo

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Sometimes, you just miss the most obvious things. I’ve been to Bilbo several times, but I never thought to take the funicular up to Artxanda. But, that’s the beauty of traveling with others, they make you think about things differently, explore new avenues, push you beyond the familiar. The funicular itself is iconic, though in the height of summer it was crammed full of sweaty people. Still, we took it up and took in the sites that Artxanda, a beautiful green space overlooking downtown Bilbo, offers. Well worth the cramped quarters!

The view of central Bilbo, including the Guggenheim, from Artxanda. Photo by Blas Uberuaga.
  • Artxanda is one of two mountain ranges that surround and define the city limits of Bilbo, the other being Pagasarri. Artxanda is closer to the center of the city and, as a consequence, has seen a lot more development. The first houses were sold and constructed around 1668, when the name of this particular summit was Sondicabaso.
  • The Artxanda funicular connects the center of Bilbo with the Mount, specifically the Mirador de Artxanda. Artxanda had already become a popular destination for the residents of Bilbo and, in the early 1900s, it was proposed that the two become connected by a funicular. Approval was granted in 1915 to build the funicular, but with a few conditions, amongst them that inebriated passengers or passengers carrying smelly packages not be allowed to ride. Another condition was that a side path be built for emergencies. The cost was about 3,000 euros. The first trip was taken on October 7, 1915, by then mayor of Bilbo Benito Marco Gardoqui.
  • There are a number of sites at the top of the mountain. One of the first is a big metal gear that is from the original funicular. Another is a giant footprint that commemorates the soldiers that fought against the fascists in the Spanish Civil War. Nearby is the hermitage of San Roque with panoramic views of the surrounding valleys. San Roque is the destination of a pilgrimage every August 16. In older times, pilgrims would come to ask for protection for their crops against draught and storms. There is also the large red sign that repeats Bilbo/Bilbao with an amazing view of the city as a backdrop.
  • The mount is also lined with trenches from the Spanish Civil War. It served as part of the Iron Ring, a vast network of tunnels and trenches that were built to protect the city during the war. Today, archeologists are excavating these trenches and tunnels.
  • Artxanda is also famous for txakolin. The first txakolindegiak, the first places to serve txakolin at least commercially, were in Artxanda. One place in particular, El Txakoli, began as a small shelter for shepherds and mountaineers in 1897.

Primary sources: Artxandako Funikularra; Artxanda: el histórico vigía de Bilbo, Naiz; Auñamendi Entziklopedia. ARTXANDA. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/artxanda/ar-22626/

Adventures of Maite and Kepa, Buber's Basque Story

The Adventures of Maite and Kepa: Part 174

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Kepa lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Maite had gotten up early to go for a jog along La Concha. She had invited Kepa to join her, but he wasn’t really a jogger. He needed a competitive element to get him motivated to exert himself. A game of basketball with friends, that was great. A partido of mano in the fronton, that was the kind of thing that got him going. Running for the sake of running? He never quite understood that.

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!

He let his eyes sort of defocus as he stared at the ceiling, little floaters flittering across his vision. Sometimes he saw shapes in the fuzzy black blobs and lines that danced across his vision, but most of the time he simply tried to track them. When he shifted his eyes to look more directly at one, it always seemed to shift away, to the side of his vision, always fuzzy and grey.

“Just like these symbols,” he said to himself. “Always just a little out of focus, always just beyond my grasp.”

He flicked his eyes back and forth, driving the floaters across his field of vision, not ready to get out of bed and start his day. 

After a while, he got bored of chasing floaters. He held his hand in front of his face and forced his finger tip to glow. Staring at the bright light, he moved his finger, drawing in the air. When he closed his eyes, the after image remained, his drawing almost brought to life on the back of his eyelids. He wrote out Maite’s name and there it was, almost burned into his vision. He tried to draw a virtual picture of her face, but it turned out to be a distorted caricature. He blinked furious to try to erase the hideous image from his eyes.

He absent mindedly continued drawing random shapes in the air, burning them into his retina and watching them fade against the blackness of his closed eyelids. At some point, without really thinking about it, he drew a circle. Within the circle he drew a triangle. Next to one point of the triangle he drew another circle and, next to the other, he drew a crescent. 

“Amalur,” he mumbled to himself as he closed his eyes, focusing on the after image of the symbol that Ainhoa had tattooed on her shoulder, that filled Marina’s journal. “What does it mean?”

Instead of fading, the symbol grew brighter and brighter against the back of his eyelids, to the point that it was almost painful. He shoved his hands against his eyes trying to block the light, but it was coming from inside his eyes. He was about to scream when the light suddenly vanished. Rubbing his eyes, he opened them. Blinking, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust back to the ambient light. As they did, he found himself staring at the apparition of a woman.

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: Igeldo, the Mount and the Neighborhood

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Perhaps the most iconic vista of La Concha and Donostia is from Mount Igeldo, the peak that rises to the west of the city. A small winding road leads from the city up the slope to an amusement park that hosts this most amazing view. You can also grab a funicular that will take you from the city to the top, something I still need to do.

The view of Donostia from Mount Igeldo. Photo by Blas Uberuaga.
  • Igeldo refers to both a barrio and the Mount that overlooks La Concha; they are distinct entities.
  • Rising about 255 meters (836 feet) above sea level to the west of the heart of Donostia, the barrio of Igeldo is officially part of Donostia with about 1000 people. Igeldo was included in the town charter of Donostia way back in 1180 by King Sancho IV the Wise of Nafarroa. While it has always been part of Donostia, it has some independence in terms of the management of the surrounding mountains and the local economy. It even has its own mayor and “city” council. In fact, Igeldo tried to obtain independence from Donostia – and briefly did – but in 2014 that movement was stopped by the courts.
  • At the top of the funicular that connects Mount Igeldo with the main city, upon the hill Mendiotz, lies an amusement park. Inaugurated in 1912 by Queen Maria Cristina, the park was designed to look like a military outpost. Originally, it also had a dancehall and casino, attracting a very different crowd than it does today, with its amusement rides and games targeting children. The park was built to take advantage of the growing tourism of the city as well as the funicular that connects the mount to the city. A group of local farmers bought the land and developed what would become the park.
  • The funicular itself is over 100 years old, constructed in 1902. It is the oldest funicular in the Basque Country.
  • Before the park, a lighthouse stood on the peak, constructed sometime in the sixteenth century. This lighthouse was powered entirely by burning wood. It was damaged during the Carlist Wars and had to be abandoned in 1854. A new lighthouse was built nearby to warn ships of the violent waters. The old one was renovated and today the Torreón, as it is called, has a majestic view of the coast.
  • There is also a meteorological observatory on the Mount, created by Juan Miguel Orcolaga y Legarra. In 1900, he alerted Basque authorities to an impending hurricane which he had predicted from his careful measurements and that led to the financing of his observatory a few years later. The station has been collecting data 24 hours a day since 1905, though records from before 1928 were lost. It is one of the oldest observatories manned 24 hours a day.

Primary sources: Arozamena Ayala, Ainhoa; Cendoya Echániz, Ignacio. IGELDO. Auñamendi Encyclopedia. Available at: https://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/en/igeldo/ar-73055/; Igueldo, Wikipedia; Mount Igeldo, Donostia/San Sebastian Tourismoa; Parque de Atracciones Monte Igueldo, Wikipedia; La Otra Cara de Igueldo, Diario Vasco