Around a decade ago, during construction
of the medical archives building next to C'an Misses (the
hospital just outside of Ibiza town), it is said that three
elderly rural peasants came to warn the architects and builders
not to build on that site. As most of those involved in aspects
of the work were forasters ('foreigners', which in rural island
terminology can include just about anyone from Mallorca to
Mongolia - or even, as in Formentera, to a local born off
the island), this polite warning went unheeded and disparaging
remarks were made about the educational levels of elderly
islanders (well, in a polite newsletter like this one cannot
really write that they were just told 'to piss off', can one?).
But the three old peasants were correct and the modern architects
and builders were wrong. Because the island has been becoming
increasingly drier, none of the latter had really bothered
much to look into the past water drainage history of that
particular site. If they had, they would have discovered that
they were building on a rainstorm flash-flood drainage area.
Sure enough, heavy rains around 1995 damaged much of the site,
which may explain why it may possibly be, it is said, rather
difficult to obtain access to certain pre-1995 medical records.
Lack of interest in, and respect for, traditional
Eivissenc/Ibicenco house styles and emplacements is not just
restricted to certain (but not all) forester architects
or builders but is seemingly shared by some of their more
'up market' local colleagues. Centuries of refinement of ancient
and well-proven traditional house construction and emplacement
methods on the island have given the isolated traditional
casa pagès (a) a well-deserved reputation for
rustic perfection and adaptation to the environment. With
the arrival of tourism, 'modernisation' laughed at these ancient
residences - many of which could actually be classed as 'works
of art' - and almost literally destroyed the tradition overnight.
Anyone visiting rural areas of the island today can see these
ancient masterpieces dotted around the forested hills. At
first view their emplacement - or positioning - may seem haphazard,
but nothing could be further from the case. The traditional
rural Eivissenc settlement pattern seems to have always been
dispersion verging on isolation and, except for certain well-known
exceptions, the concept of clumping together in 'villages'
almost a 'foreign tradition' enforced particularly after the
Catalan re-conquest in the 13th century (i.e., relatively
recently as the anthropological time scale goes) and now also
with the 'Tourism conquest'. An attempt from Vila (Ibiza
town), Mallorca and the mainland in the 18th century to almost
force those remaining rural peasants to abandon their isolated
'extended family kingdoms' to settle near churches/villages
was a failure. These rural residences are masterpieces: constructed
by wise peasants with an intimate knowledge of the terrain,
of climate, and of the difficulties that periodic climatic
problems can cause. Droughts and periodic intense storms with
floods are all part of the deep rural memory passed on by
word of mouth from generation to generation. Cultures based
upon the passing down of traditions orally tend to have a
longer historic memory (or at least one that is more strongly
revered and felt) than most literate cultures. And as 'modernisation'
proceeds worldwide we can begin to see the even further shortening
of mankind's interest and attention spans. Anyone watching
CNN news on their satellite television here on the island
can glimpse the 'difficulties' (?) that a major US news organization
has once it has realised (?) that attention spans of its home
audience now seem within the 30-90 second range. Memory spans
of rural populations traditionally encompass generations and
hundreds of years of accumulated experience. Modernisation
can shorten that very quickly: all it needs is one generation
that does not pass on that culture and then - whoosh! - hundreds
or thousands of years of experience go down the drain forever.
This, unfortunately, is rather like what has happened in much
of Eivissa/Ibiza within the last two generations or so. Many
people seem to think that this is inevitable in the modern
world: it should not be, and the loss of accumulated experience
memory poses problems for us in the future.
As much as possible the isolated traditional
casa pagès (a) (peasant house), positioned on traditionally
held family land, was placed in such a way that es porxo
(the entrance hall/room) and its porxet (sheltered
porch entrance) faced south to catch the maximum sun. The
(often-blank) backside of the house faced north as protection
from the sometimes fierce traumontana winds and storms. Rural
house positioning (but not necessarily that of certain older
buildings in the areas of Vila and Portmany, San Antonio)
took into account availability of water during summer and
drought seasons and the sometimes torrential floods occurring
during the winter - maximising access to water in the summer
and minimising possible rain/flood damage in the winter. Many
modern houses and urbanization's built on the island in the
last 40 years or so often forget to take such important considerations
into account. As the weather in this part of the world changes
with global warming, certain modern builders and house owners
will bitterly regret past mistakes. New houses built below
areas liable to collapse; on low-lying land or near ancient
flood run-off ditches ('torrentes') will take the brunt of
the increased power of the future storms mentioned in last
week's article. Modern houses built in 'scenic spots' on the
coast but that may be potentially affected by the forecast
rise in sea level, higher tides and storm surges, may not
become the best-selling houses on the market. As local insurance
companies begin to realise the implications, many of such
newer constructions may have difficulty finding a company
willing to insure them or, if so, at a price that is not astronomical.
Traditionally oriented societies construct their habitations
with climate fluctuations in mind. In Vanuatu in the Southwest
Pacific, usually affected by around half a dozen cyclones
each year during the rainy season (from the beginning of October
to the end of March or even April there), traditional architecture
has developed over many centuries to minimise cyclone damage.
There, house and ritual structures (all made of wood, leaf,
vines and local fibre rope) are built with thick roofs plunging
almost to the ground: roof-supporting walls are as short as
possible. Such a structure can make it rather difficult for
a cyclone to collapse the walls and tear off the roof. Over
the last 150 years missionaries have emphasised the importance
of having a sort of 'European' type house (albeit of local
materials) with higher walls and a shorter, less sloping,
roof. The latter kind of structure is just the kind that will
disappear most quickly in a cyclone, whilst the low-lying
traditional structures may be damaged but remain essentially
intact. In February 1987 Cyclone 'Uma' hit central and southern
Vanuatu with incredible force and 50 people sadly lost their
lives. The previous January I had been in the village of Purao,
on the island of Tongoa in central Vanuatu, to take part in
rituals for the opening of a new traditional ceremonial house.
This vast oval structure of wood and leaf thatch, over 30
metres long and 15 metres wide, was shaped rather like an
up-turned canoe with the tight metre-thick thatched roof almost
touching the ground. It had taken up to a hundred men nearly
a year to build and involved first choosing massive curved
trees that could be cut and cured for the roof supports. Chosen
were trees that had a strong low projecting branch, which
was cut off a metre or two from the trunk. The base of the
cut tree was then dug deeply into the ground with the lower
branches buried underground as well. A whole series of these
large curved supports were thus dug into the ground and served
as the 'ribs' of the structure which was therefore firmly
'hooked' into the ground by the branches. The thick thatched
roof curved down almost to the ground, and even the entrance
was so low one had to bend to enter. When the massive cyclone
struck shortly afterwards, the population of the whole village
(about 350 people), most of whom lived in less safer 'mission'
style huts, sheltered inside under the direction of Chief
Tarisaliu and his advisors. For those of you readers who may
have been stuck in the middle of a massive cyclone, you will
know that one does not necessarily just 'batten down the hatches'
and sit it out. If one is in a house, one has to be aware
of the changes in atmospheric pressure and wind direction
of the phenomenon as wind pressure and direction can build
up an effect that causes the structure to implode upon itself
(this has happened to me before in the South Pacific) unless
action is taken. It was interesting how the people from Purao
sheltering inside the vast ceremonial hut dealt with the situation.
Under orders from the chief and the elderly advisors, strong
young men were placed inside at particular points along the
base of the structure and others strapped themselves similarly
along sections of the vast roof. As the cyclone swirled around
the structure the chief and advisors shouted orders indicating
that various men should periodically loosen or tighten some
of the strong fibre cords along the roof and open or close
ventilation flaps. Everyone from Purao survived safely, although
only one house in the village was left standing. Hearing a
detailed description of this later from one of the chief's
elderly advisors, it made me think of the crew of a 19th century
whaling ship struggling through an intense storm under orders
from the captain shouting through a megaphone. Rather like
a scene from the classic Walt Disney film 'Moby Dick'.
Modern architects on Ibiza - and elsewhere
- will eventually be forced to take into account the gradual
worsening of storm weather brought 'to a house near you' by
global warming and climate change. Shoddy building techniques
and emplacements will possibly eventually have to carry legal
penalties. Some of the architects here on the island should
rapidly de-learn and re-learn construction approaches to avoid
pitfalls in the future and it would be extremely useful for
them to delve into traditional local rural architecture, not
to just be inspired by its beauty and seeming simplicity,
but to learn the well-tried local approaches to trying to
solve the problems of drought combined with periodic torrential
rains and storms. Whether this will happen here in time or
not one does know. I remember attending a public round table
discussion in the Sala de Cultura in San Antonio on the future
of the casa pagesa in the early 1990s.This had been organised
as the closing session of a photographic exhibition on traditional
Ibicenco rural houses put together by the Belgian architect
Philippe Rotthier and his organisation T.E.H.P. (Taller d'Estudis
del Hàbitat Pitius en Ibiza). Rotthier asked one of
the invited guests, an Ibicenco mayor of one of the island's
largest villages/towns (also an architect) how he saw the
future of these increasingly rare architectural masterpieces.
"S'ha accabat" ('It is finished'), replied the mayor/architect,
to the shocked gasps of the audience: " It is part of
the past and we must look to the future", he continued.
Visibly shaking, Rotthier then asked the other major invited
guest, the islander president of a local architect's association,
who replied "We are not here to copy old house styles,
our work is modernisation and urbanisation". The audience
was visibly angry and it looked for one minute as if a fight
might break out. Grabbing the microphone, Rotthier said grimly,
" After viewing the exhibition and hearing the discussion
this evening, one can see that in the old days Ibiza had architecture
without architects and today has architects without architecture!
"There was uproar. But such things happen, and it is
not really, I suppose, Ibiza's fault that such a massive proportion
of its modern buildings are an eyesore. Spain was the first
country to develop mass tourism; there were no other countries
upon which one could rely for advice. And on Ibiza, so isolated
for so long, anything new was exciting, no matter how ugly
it looks now. Building was done at break neck speed as the
tourist's numbers kept increasing. Lack of aesthetic awareness
of some of the local builders was sometimes put as the cause,
sometimes 'just plain greed' is also mentioned. However, a
lot of the blame can also be placed upon the foreign tour
operators and some of the tourists themselves for not complaining
enough about the quality of such a high percentage of the
new buildings.
The effects of global warming and climate
change will damage these relatively new, cheaply made, buildings
a lot more than the ancient rural houses. It will force changes
in building practice not just in Ibiza, but around the world.
And it must be admitted that there are, luckily, some new
buildings on the island that show taste, flare, respect for
tradition and awareness that quality construction is not just
a thing of the past. It would be interesting to be able to
visit Ibiza in the year 2100 - by which time the full-blown
effects of climate change outlined in last weeks article will
have taken place- and to see what buildings existing today
remain. By then, sea levels will possibly be a metre higher
than today. What will the island's coastline be like then?
It will still be a very special island, as it always has been
throughout history. But drastic changes worldwide may mean
that 'special islands' are no longer of importance. Problems
of relocating the world's global warming refugees may have,
by then, eclipsed most other topics of concern and there may
be little leisure for tourism. Just bear this in mind: certain
densely populated low-lying countries (not to mention the
low islands in the Pacific and the Caribbean) will have their
backs to the wall. In 1990 it was estimated that a rise in
sea level of only 30cms would force 30 million people from
Bangladesh out of their homes. This is just an example. Where
will all these people go? They can't all come to Ibiza....
We will look into this in more depth later
on. But next Wednesday my wife and I are off for a month's
travelling. If I come across a computer on the way, I will
submit articles when I can to our editor, Gary Hardy. Until
then, I send you all best wishes for Europe's festive season...
from the island where bright warm sunlight makes one squint
the eyes in December whilst the rest of Europe freezes. Back
here in mid-January. Molts anys i bons.
Kirk W Huffman
kirkwhuffman@ibizahistoryculture.com
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