Sophie drove uncomfortably fast for Barton winding her way along the
sinuous autoroute that led to the Spanish frontier some twenty kilometres
south of Biarritz. It had taken a little effort, but Sophie had finally persuaded
Barton to take time to visit some of the recent and more remarkable architectural
achievements in nearby Spain.
As an architect specialized in interior design, Sophie worked with her father’s
architectural firm, Michael Emerson & Partners, as an independent associate in
London. Emerson was known for the design of the famous Dubai Bank building,
one of the more startling landmarks in the Emirate.
Their first stop was Getaria, a small fishing port of two and a half thousand
inhabitants on the Basque coast, fifteen kilometers south of San Sebastian, where
Sophie planned to start their tour with a visit to the recently opened Balenciaga
Museum.
Cristóbal Balenciaga Eizaguirre, who was to become one of the world’s most
famous couturiers in fashion history, was born in Getaria in 1895. His clients
included Jackie Kennedy, Helena Rubinstein, the Duchess of Windsor and the
Spanish royal family. The museum, a massive block of glass and granite glinting
under the summer sunshine, was situated on the flank of a small hill overlooking
the picturesque fishing port.
The left wing of the museum was the Aldamar Palace, not really a palace, but a
large summer house that had belonged to the Marquis Casa de Torres, the
grandfather of Queen Fabiola of Belgium. When Balenciaga was a child his mother
took in sewing for the marquis who was to become one of the couturiers most
important clients.
The ultra-modern architecture of the museum, perched above the small port,
seemed incongruous to Barton, though the idea Getaria remember its world famous
S
son with a suitable monument was perfectly normal. Another of the town’s sons
would certainly live longer in history than Balenciaga: Juan Sebastián Elkano, the
first sea captain to circumnavigate the globe. Ferdinand Magellan’s second in
command, who when Magellan was killed in the Philippines took command of his
ship, returning to Spain in 1522 with just seventeen survivors of the two hundred
and forty one men expedition that had set out in 1519.
The museum, designed by the Cuban architect Julián Argilagos, was certainly
interesting, as was its contrast with the nineteenth palace adjoining it.
Sophie told Barton of the stories and ugly scandals that surrounded Mariano
Camio, the mayor of Getaria, who was behind the idea of building a museum to
house Balenciaga’s works in 1987. At the outset the project was mired in
controversy and accusation: sketches made by the couturier disappeared, as did two
pairs of gloves, one in white leather, the other in velvet, and a number of silk
scarves. To make matters worse the architect was accused of megalomania.
Finally, the design of the museum was finally awarded to the Cuban, a close friend
of the mayor, and according to certain stories his lover. The project was however,
marred by the scandals; misappropriation of public funding, the dismissal of
Argilagos, and the endless delays.
Camio headed the company designated to carry out the construction, in addition
he was appointed deputy president of the Balenciaga Foundation’s and director of
the museum. The construction, initially budgeted at six million euros, rose to
twenty one million, leaving the foundation in debt to the tune of one million eight
hundred thousand euros.
Whether the stories were exaggerated or not, Barton found the Baroque intrigues
fascinating, but what surprised him most was the dimension and the extravagance
of the museum, which had certainly cost the Spanish tax payer, not forgetting
Brussels, a pretty fortune.
After an excellent fish lunch in the old port they continued their journey to
Burgos, where Sophie planned to show Barton the newly opened Museo de la
Evolucion Humana. She had contributed to the design of the museum’s different
levels and the creation of its exhibit rooms.
From Getaria, the drive took an hour and a half, first over the recently build
highway that cut through the Basque Mountains in a series of tunnels and
spectacular viaducts. They soon left the all-pervading greenery of the Basque
landscape, suddenly emerging on a sun drenched plateau. After bypassing
Pamplona they soon neared the outskirts of the historic city Burgos.
There traffic was light as the heat of the early afternoon sun reflected off the
autopista ahead. As far as the eye could see the city was surrounded by cereal
country, the crops had already been harvested leaving a golden yellow stubble
across a landscape broken only by a series of small wooded hills.
Barton impressed by the region’s infrastructure, which must have been built at
great cost, and noted whatever the effects of the ongoing economic crisis Spain
would be left with a highly modern system of highways.
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Burgos, like many Spanish cities, was compact with the cathedral the focal point
of the old town. Sophie knew her way around the city having frequently visited it
during the construction of the museum, which did not prevent Barton from
pointing to the rose coloured road direction signs that pointed the way to the
Museo.
It took less than ten minutes to reach the museum where Sophie parked the car in
the underground garage and led the way up to the esplanade and the offices of the
curator. There they were met by José Velasquez, one of the co-directors, for a
guided tour of the museum and its exhibits.
The complex, estimated to have cost almost one hundred million euros, had been
inaugurated just two months previously by Queen Sofía and was still going through
its teething problems. The complex, designed by Juan Navarro Baldeweg,
consisted of a three buildings clad in glass and aluminium: the Museum of Human
Evolution, the Human Evolution Research Centre, and the Congress Centre and
Auditorium.
Velasquez explained the design was a representation of the geological or
paleontological aspects of the archaeological site, which Barton had not yet visited
and had some difficulty imagining. To his untrained eye building seemed vast, out
of scale given the number and size of the exhibits. It was reminiscent of the
Balenciaga museum, extravagantly built, regardless of cost. It was an immense
glasshouse, the unoccupied spaces of which were more than vast: stairwells, halls
and corridors. It was an architect’s dream, where the question of budgets had
evidently been relegated to some obscure bureau in Castilla-Leon’s regional
government offices, or filed away in some corner of the Burgos City Hall.
Velasquez, wanting a few words with Sophie on the subject of some unfinished
details, pointed Barton to the exhibits where he could see the cranium and
mandible of Homo heidelbergensis, part of the two hundred original human fossils
on display in the museum, by far the largest collection in the world.
Barton, though he knew little of science and anthropology, found himself deeply
moved in the presence of the five hundred thousand year old skull of Homo
heidelbergensis. As for the rest of the museum it was a sparse didactic presentation
of human prehistory, he felt disappointed, to his mind the number of interesting
exhibits did not warrant the vast scale of the edifice.
The visit finished, they headed for their hotel as Sophie enthused over the piece
of monumental architecture. Barton congratulated her on her accomplishment, very
certainly a reference as far as her career was concerned. He was careful to avoid
voicing his thoughts, which would have certainly hurt Sophie.
The hotel, situated to the west of the old town, was described by the French guide
book as a hôtel de charme. An ancient building tastefully relooked; its original
style retained and set off by a clever choice of contemporary furnishings.
‘You’re not tired Tom?’
‘Of course not,’ he replied knowing that Sophie was eager to show him the sights.
‘Then we’ll visit the cathedral, it’s closed now but we can still admire its style.’
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‘Suits me,’ he said enthusiastically.
‘It’s Spain’s the third most important cathedral. After that I know a little
restaurant.’
The early evening sun reflected from the white limestone walls of the cathedral. It
was magnificent. The construction of the Gothic-style Catedral de Burgos had
commenced in 1221, and was not completed until 1567. During the intervening
three hundred odd years, different architects added diverse elements to the edifice
and in equally varying styles.
Barton wondered how long the Museo de los Humanos or the Balenciaga
Museum would last. Not long, it was a simple question of materials. Elliot Stone
had once told him that architects worked for politicians and politicians knew
nothing of architecture. Their ideas reflected the societies in which they lived in,
with little or no thought given to durability. What counted was now and the next
election.
‘A penny for your thoughts,’ asked Sophie.
‘Nothing, just thinking…,’ he replied, before admitting, ‘Well, I was only
wondering how long the Museo de los Humanos would last?’
Sophie shrugged. ‘It would last longer if we could build it with more durable
materials, but that costs money, lots of it.’
‘And they don’t have it?’
‘No, you can see what has happened to Spain, the result of spending money it
doesn’t have.’
It was hot, still in the upper twenties, the heat of the day radiating from the
massive walls of the ancient city.
‘Let’s go eat,’ said Sophie grabbing his arm.