30
we would see the stars sharply defined against a black background by day and
by night, as occurs when observations are made from space.
The increase in telescope diameters, together with improvements in observing instruments, accentuates to an ever-greater degree the unwanted effects of
the atmosphere and necessitates more sophisticated site testing when choosing new astrophysical locations. It was to learn all about this that I went to
France in March 1962, three days after the birth Jorge, our first child.
It was my first trip abroad, and I went laden with all the prejudices and
complexes of Spaniards of that era. In Hendaye, during the long five-hour
wait for the French train (the railways of our neighbouring country took this
precaution because of the habitual delays of RENFE, Spain’s national rail
company), I experienced what it was like to be one of the masses that went to
work in Europe, with all the fears and home-sickness felt by migrants (of
course, our travails could not be compared with those of today’s migrants who
risk their lives in precarious dinghies). I was sorely tempted to take the return
train and go back to my family. I felt torn by having left my newborn son so
soon in order to fulfil obligations that I could not simply dismiss.
I shall never forget the way the gendarmes ill-treated the immigrants,
shouting at them and shoving them like cattle. Many years later I witnessed a
similar scene on the frontier between Nepal and Tibet: a Chinese policewoman, small and frail, used a whip to keep back a group of tall Tibetans who
were numb with cold to prevent them from approaching the barrier. In
Hendaye I felt the impotent rage of the immigrant at seeing how a gendarme
was abusing a Spaniard. I scolded him and was on the point of being beaten
and incarcerated. I was young and remembered the history of the Second of
May, 1808, in Madrid; I felt a surge of patriotism and heroism. Later—much
later—I would learn to abandon my Hispanic inferiority complex. And now,
very much later, I have come to realize the extremes to which Spaniards
accepted the calumnies of the Black Legend of our inferiority in comparison
with northern Europeans. I have also shaken off other misconceptions. It is
now abundantly plain that the heights reached by Spanish astrophysics in so
little time demonstrate our intellectual and moral equality.
During one of the first stops made by the train, a gentleman entered our
compartment and sat next to me; he was pleasant and began to speak to me
in Spanish with a strong Catalan accent. His destination was close to Paris;
the train would be stopping at every station so we were able to converse for a
long time. We spoke of many things, but one topic made a particularly deep
impression on me; it was the clarity and depth of his ideas on Latin America—
‘Hispanic America’, as he termed it. He meant by it an entity encompassing
all the Latin American countries that share our language, in the same way that
F. Sánchez
we would see the stars sharply defined against a black background by day and
by night, as occurs when observations are made from space.
The increase in telescope diameters, together with improvements in observing instruments, accentuates to an ever-greater degree the unwanted effects of
the atmosphere and necessitates more sophisticated site testing when choosing new astrophysical locations. It was to learn all about this that I went to
France in March 1962, three days after the birth Jorge, our first child.
It was my first trip abroad, and I went laden with all the prejudices and
complexes of Spaniards of that era. In Hendaye, during the long five-hour
wait for the French train (the railways of our neighbouring country took this
precaution because of the habitual delays of RENFE, Spain’s national rail
company), I experienced what it was like to be one of the masses that went to
work in Europe, with all the fears and home-sickness felt by migrants (of
course, our travails could not be compared with those of today’s migrants who
risk their lives in precarious dinghies). I was sorely tempted to take the return
train and go back to my family. I felt torn by having left my newborn son so
soon in order to fulfil obligations that I could not simply dismiss.
I shall never forget the way the gendarmes ill-treated the immigrants,
shouting at them and shoving them like cattle. Many years later I witnessed a
similar scene on the frontier between Nepal and Tibet: a Chinese policewoman, small and frail, used a whip to keep back a group of tall Tibetans who
were numb with cold to prevent them from approaching the barrier. In
Hendaye I felt the impotent rage of the immigrant at seeing how a gendarme
was abusing a Spaniard. I scolded him and was on the point of being beaten
and incarcerated. I was young and remembered the history of the Second of
May, 1808, in Madrid; I felt a surge of patriotism and heroism. Later—much
later—I would learn to abandon my Hispanic inferiority complex. And now,
very much later, I have come to realize the extremes to which Spaniards
accepted the calumnies of the Black Legend of our inferiority in comparison
with northern Europeans. I have also shaken off other misconceptions. It is
now abundantly plain that the heights reached by Spanish astrophysics in so
little time demonstrate our intellectual and moral equality.
During one of the first stops made by the train, a gentleman entered our
compartment and sat next to me; he was pleasant and began to speak to me
in Spanish with a strong Catalan accent. His destination was close to Paris;
the train would be stopping at every station so we were able to converse for a
long time. We spoke of many things, but one topic made a particularly deep
impression on me; it was the clarity and depth of his ideas on Latin America—
‘Hispanic America’, as he termed it. He meant by it an entity encompassing
all the Latin American countries that share our language, in the same way that
F. Sánchez