Owing to the shifting sands of European history, the continent is full of linguistic oddities, little pockets of oral tradition, threatened by the ever-advancing crunch of the globalizing boot. One such outpost is the Sardinian town of Alghero, situated on the island’s north western coast, below the green lip of the Porto Conte Regional Park. The Catalans from eastern Spain conquered the town in 1353 and despite Spanish and then Italian supplanting Catalan as the official tongue, the area still retains a percentage of the population who go about their daily business in that language. The linguistic trickle down has lead to a cultural and architectural heritage unique on the island.
Alghero’s old maritime defenses rise above the modern marina; once a bastion against seaborne enemies, they now provide visitors like me with the best view of the town’s mesmerizing sunsets. The cannons have been silent since the Piedmont royalty took over in 1720, by which time the Catalans and Spanish had already stamped their distinctive mark on the local buildings. Santa Maria Cathedral was built in Catalan-Gothic style, with the five chapels still reflecting this heritage. As I walked along Via Carlo Alberto, I passed another Catalan-inspired church, San Francesco, ending up in Piazza Civica, home to the Palazzo d’Albis, once a bed and breakfast retreat for Emperor Charles V, before his siege of North Africa.
The older buildings were clearly representative of their unique historic mix, but what of the present-day inhabitants? Waiting for a bus to the strip of pine-scented beach north of town, I was approached by a pensioner looking to pass the time of day. After starting the conversation in Italian, I asked him if he spoke Catalan; he proudly announced that the language of L’Alguer (Alghero in Catalan) was the language of the Balearics, identifying himself with the distinct regional variation spoken on the island of Mallorca. I befuddled him by switching to Spanish, speaking no Catalan, only to find he could just about follow some of my questions. Linguists from Barcelona flock here to study a Catalan that has escaped the over-arching influence of Castilian Spanish.
Young Catalans come for the beach and nightlife. I followed the crowd and sipped a sun-downer as the red and yellow Algherese flag fluttered over the harbour battlements. It was worth the price of a cocktail to see the sun slip behind the two masts of a sailing boat, which had timed its entrance to perfection. Street life goes on long into the night, the local shops making the most of the summer glut.
The music coming from one store wasn’t the usual choice of techno or manufactured folk. On closer inspection it was a record shop playing something in Catalan. To my surprise, two endearing old ladies emerged, waving me to enter. They were only too happy to show me a series of artists from the area, explaining that there was a resurgence of interest among the young. The performer who had dragged me off the street was Marisa Sannia, a songwriter who sings in Sardinian, Italian and Spanish as well: a digitised Mediterranean melting-pot.
Most towns celebrate their famous figures; their heroes sit on plinths, soaking up the pollution of centuries. Alghero’s unusual monument is a living one, to the unity of language, la unitat de la llengua.
Andrew Edwards likes to spend as much time as possible in the lands of the olive, particularly Spain and Italy. He is a translator and freelance writer who loves the literature of the Mediterranean. He is currently translating two books on Sicily. When not working, writing travel articles or reading, he enjoys food – anything with anchovies – and Italian cinema.
