La Raya or living in the infinite
Valencia de Alcántara, the village where I live, is only 12 kilometres from the Portuguese border. In the past it has played a very important role in the lives of travelling Spaniards and Portuguese. The old town and its region therefore have a rich history that started with possibly the Celts who left behind their dolmens and menhirs and the Romans of whom we inherited bridges and aqueducts. Valencia de Alcántara was founded in the Middle Ages by the Order of Alcántara. This Order conquered the town from the Moors and kept it in their possession until the 16th century when it was transferred into the hands of the Spanish crown. Once the daughter of the Catholic monarch married here with the Portuguese king. Every year in August the inhabitants act out this marriage. Its position in La Raya Hispano-Lusa, the Spanish-Portuguese border area, made Valencia de Alcántara attractive for various groups. In the 18th century even the English and the French fought a war over this area. The town experienced its high point at the end of the 19th century when the rail connection between Madrid and Lisbon became a reality. Valencia de Alcántara developed into the largest cork distribution centre of the country. During the days of Franco this region was notorious for smuggling coffee, tea, tobacco and other luxury goods that were not for sale in Spain.
The old border crossing is a quiet witness to the former strict surveillance. Buildings are neglected. On the Spanish side, the lawns, trees and plants are very well kept. The road itself looks like a race circuit; blacktop and red and white curbstones. The Portuguese side abounds with abandoned buildings of a former working, living community. Police, custom
officials and their families even had their own church and school.
The highroad is protected on both sides by the rising mountain ridges of the Sierra Fría (the cold mountain). In the past these ridges were covered with pinewoods. Since the fires of 2003 that started in Portugal, grass and shrub are growing again. This local disaster reduced 40.000 hectares of pinewoods to ashes, roused a lot of emotions and resulted in a reorganization of the fire brigades on both sides of the border.
The bordering regions gained fame due to the Sierra Fría. Up to 20 kilometres to the east and west from both sides of the border there is a microclimate. The ocean air, blowing in from the west brings humid air to this region that hangs on to the Sierra Fría. “The cold mountain” still honours her name. The region is green, fertile and has a lot water with Portugal being somewhat more temperate than Spain. Wells are full year round, even in 2005, the driest summer in 60 years. The temperature is always milder and less extreme than in the rest of Extremadura and Alentejo. Whenever you drive from Valencia de Alcántara to the east you notice the difference almost immediately. Less green, less verdant.
La Raya (boundery line) is a special place. Two languages are spoken - a mixture of Spanish and Portuguese. National characters differ completely. The Spaniard is noisy, outgoing and prefers to live on top of his neighbour. The Portuguese is more introverted, quieter and prefers to live on his own plot of land, which most of the time includes a large house. You may notice this by observing the way the villages are built and the size of the farmhouses. On the Spanish side a lot of farms are abandoned. Owners now live in an apartment in town and work their vegetable gardens during the day. The Portuguese still live on their farms and do not move into town. Portuguese houses are better taken care of and are painted. Whereas in Spain gardens hardly have flowers, in Portugal gardens are full of them and the water basins have brightly colored fountains. The lush luxuriance reminds me of the tropics. It seems as though Spaniards don’t really bother with the beauty of their houses, maybe because they love fiestas and the social life that goes on outside of their homes.
The differences are also noticeable in the kitchen. The Extremeño kitchen is very basic. Honest ingredients, no additives. Fresh herbs are not for sale. This is different in Portugal. People cook with more fantasy. Shops sell spices and herbs. This makes eating and shopping in Portugal adventurous and interesting. A lot of Portuguese rayanos (cross-border inhabitants) shop in Spain due to the lower prices and buy herbs and spices in their own country. Another advantage is that during Spanish fiestas, shops in Portugal are open and vice versa.
Crossing a border, even without men in uniform, still feels tense to me. It recalls memories. The road, the signs to slow down, different buildings, different traffic lanes. I remember clearly how it used to be. Passports at the ready and the uncertainty about the behaviour of customs officials. When I consider my thoughts about what a boundary or border signifies, I arrive at age old agreements, economical advantages, power and possession. And whenever I look further, when I am boundless, I see a beautiful region divided by a friendly mountain range that looks like the back of a dragon. I talk to people on both sides that love one another and support each other; people who eat together and in fact never had anything to do with a ‘border’. People here live in synchronicity with the universe and as always, they still walk the smuggling paths to visit each other, to shop and to sell their merchandise at each other’s markets. European Union? They couldn’t care less, but they still benefit from modern regulations and developments. They do buy modern equipment like washing machines and if possible the women wash at the local washing place. They like that. Being outside, exchanging news and gossip, contemplating the surroundings and finally drying their laundry on the bleaching grounds.
Here in La Raya life is infinite, outside of wrist-watch time but within natural time. The boundary exists only in my thinking. Portugal, Spain, Spain, Portugal. It is not a choice. By now I know that living in La Raya Hispano-Lusa is about real life; about enjoying, playing along and getting along with each other. A way of getting to know myself and the people I love.
Elisabeth Steur