Sandie Holguín

"National Spain Invites You": Battlefield Tourism during the Spanish Civil War

People looking for a highly unusual vacation on the eve of the second European conflagration might have been attracted to the following advertisement placed in tourist offices throughout major cities in Europe:

National Spain Invites you to visit the War Route of the North (San Sebastian, Bilbao, Santander, Gijon, Oviedo, and the Iron Ring). See history in the making among Spanish scenery of unsurpassed beauty.

So began a tourist brochure created in April 1938 by the Spanish Nationalists' newly formed National Spanish State Tourist Department. The Nationalists beckoned European tourists to visit the "War Route of the North" while the Spanish Civil War was still in progress. Along with its messages targeting markedly different groups of people—those who wanted the authenticity of the battlefield experience and those who just wanted a relaxing, scenic vacation—the brochure called on tourists to "Form your own judgment of the real situation in National Spain today."¹

The Spanish Nationalists began running organized tours of the recently secured northern front on July 1, 1938. They added a War Route of the South through Andalusia in December of that same year. Collectively known as the Rutas Nacionales de Guerra (National War Routes), these tours began every other day, between July 1 and October 1 in the north and between December and April in the south, until the end of World War II.² For £8 or its equivalent in other European currencies, the Nationalists offered nine-day bus tours, which included three meals a day, accommodations in first-class hotels, incidental expenses, and tips.³ Spain was still in the midst of war, yet the tours attracted thousands of people from throughout Western Europe.⁴

Although battlefield tourism had been around since at least the Battle of Waterloo, organized visits to battle sites increased dramatically after World War I, when the unfathomable death toll compelled many people to travel to places such as Verdun or the Somme as pilgrims wishing to hallow the dead or as thrill-seekers desiring a vicarious experience of trench warfare. But the Nationalists' Rutas Nacionales de Guerra were different from these forms of battlefield tourism. This was the first time that a regime whose claim to legitimacy remained very much in question had sponsored and conducted tours before the completion of a civil war.⁵ The tours also inaugurated a novel combination of solemn battlefield tourism with a more traditional brand of recreational tourism, juxtaposing the great deeds of Nationalist soldiers alongside "attractive seaside resorts."⁶

The evidence from tourist brochures, "scripts" that tour guides were supposed to read, tour logs, memos, memoirs, and newspaper accounts makes clear that the Nationalists believed that the tours could accomplish many disparate goals. Tourism could bring much-needed cash to the regime's war economy. More important, the very idea that the Nationalists could conduct tours during wartime gave them a legitimacy that they wanted and needed from the international community. They hoped to establish friendly links with groups in other authoritarian and fascist countries and attract tourists sympathetic to their cause. The tours also became an avenue to convince the international community that the Nationalist uprising in July 1936 had been absolutely necessary to save Spain from the disasters inflicted on it by supporters of the Second Republic. Finally, these tours served to sacralize both the battle sites and the Nationalist soldiers who had conquered the land. They played a critical role in creating and consecrating a series of narratives that the Franco regime would repeat obsessively until its demise in 1975, and helped to fashion a Francoist vision of national identity that—the Nationalists claimed—had temporarily been stolen by the architects of the Second Republic. On these tours, the Nationalists depicted the war as both a Crusade and a new Reconquista, thereby exalting a Nationalist heroism that depended on the complete humiliation of the "Red" enemy.

The Franco regime's experiment with battlefield tourism provides an excellent case study for examining how tourism that takes human suffering as its subject can be used to redefine national identity. Therefore, in addition to analyzing questions of national identity, it has broad applications for memory studies and for scholars analyzing the consolidation of regimes after wars, during wartime occupation, or even during transitions to democracy. Tourism, broadly speaking, provides an ideal means to mediate ideological processes of state legitimation and politicization of the past.⁷ But tourism coupled with wartime deaths enters into the realm of what anthropologist Katherine Verdery calls "dead-body politics," whereby people interpret the meaning of dead bodies in multivalent ways. Dead bodies can represent "the sacred, ideas of morality, [and] the nonrational." They "are especially useful and effective symbols for revising the past."⁸ And it is the conquest of the past that can add the necessary patina of respectability to sometimes questionable military and political conquests.

Battlefields have always had their pilgrims or tourists, but it was not until the nineteenth century that battlefield tourism became an industry. This form of "thanatourism," whereby "travel to a location [is] wholly, or partially, motivated by the desire for actual or symbolic encounters with death," was made possible by the structural changes wrought by nineteenth-century industrial capitalism merging with elements of Romanticism.⁹ The sheer number of people involved in the production and consumption of travel made modern tourism different from its predecessors.¹⁰ With the Industrial Revolution, a new bourgeoisie had disposable income for leisure, but not necessarily time; therefore, a market developed for guidebooks and for tourist agencies such as Thomas Cook, which created tour packages that enabled people to see many places quickly.¹¹ The Second Industrial Revolution provided the necessary infrastructure to make the incipient international industry possible. Railroads allowed large numbers of people to travel great distances in shorter periods of time than had previously been possible, and telegraph cables helped newly formed travel agencies make efficient travel arrangements across international borders. Imperialism, aided by these aforementioned revolutions and modern advertising techniques, created new desires and tourist markets.¹²

Tourism also helped to construct and strengthen national identities. As nationalism blossomed in the nineteenth century, leaders of nation-states sought ways to lure international tourists to their countries, both to reap the economic benefits of tourism and to nurture patriotism in their own subjects or citizens.¹³ Tourism worked to cement visitors' own national identities by showing them different types of people and sights, thereby demonstrating the true "foreignness" of other cultures and highlighting the vivid ideological differences between tourists and "natives." These ideological contrasts were most notably seen in battlefield tourism.

Scholars point to the Battle of Waterloo (1815) as the first battle site to become a "tourism mega-attraction."¹⁴ Not only was Waterloo "the first great battle to be witnessed and recorded by tourists," but the location remained popular throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries as a place for business and recreational tourists. At first, individuals and small groups visited. Soon tourist agents such as Henry Gaze (1854) began shepherding people there in even greater numbers.¹⁵ During the nineteenth century, the number of tourists who visited battle sites during wartime increased, although the majority of these tourists were not organized by professionals into tour groups.¹⁶

It took the confluence of World War I and the development of national tourist agencies to make battlefield tourism a mass enterprise. The sheer scale of death in World War I touched almost everyone in Europe and accounts for the vast numbers of people who visited battlefields such as Verdun and the Somme. But these visitors were aided by savvy producers of tourism such as Michelin, the Touring Club de France, and the Office National du Tourisme (ONT), who did not waste any time during the war to begin planning how they would bring tourists to France at the end of the war. These organizations took steps to make their motives sound pure, offering a dignified way for people to honor the sacrifices of the war dead. But their inspiration was economic. Government enterprises such as the ONT needed money to rebuild France's infrastructure after so long and brutal a war.¹⁷ To stimulate tourism from Britain and within France, Michelin put out a guidebook to French battlefields in 1917 to suggest to tourists in automobiles how they might view the battlefields to best replicate the authenticity of the trench experience.¹⁸ Soon thereafter, tourist agencies began chartering groups, housing them in first-class hotels, and shuttling them in motor coaches.

The success of battlefield tourism in the interwar years was phenomenal, especially in the latter part of the 1920s. While scholars cannot give an accurate estimate of the number of visitors during this period, some figures are worth mentioning. In 1930, 100,000 people signed the visitors' log at the Menin Gate of Ypres, Belgium, in just three months, and there were 150 places for those tourists to buy beer. Almost 2,000,000 foreign tourists went to France in 1929, and during the Great Depression in 1935, a remarkable 390,000 still visited.¹⁹ It is no wonder that the Spanish Nationalists saw economic opportunity in promoting battlefield tourism during the civil war. Why did people come in droves to these sites of mass death? Certainly, those with relatives and friends who had been killed in the war did not view themselves as tourists—they were honoring their dead. Those who had not fought in the war may have wanted to approximate the authenticity of battle. Others may have wanted to use this type of tourism as a form of education. And some may have gone solely because they found warfare fascinating.

Of course, we cannot be certain what motivated people to visit scenes of mass carnage, but the fact that greater numbers of people did so by the beginning of the twentieth century points to both structural and psychological causes. According to scholars A. V. Seaton, John Lennon, and Malcolm Foley, thanatourism (also known as dark tourism) increased in popularity in the twentieth century, and it continues to attract numerous devotees to this day.²⁰ For Seaton, people's fascination with death and their desire to travel to places associated with death have always existed in all parts of the world. The earliest forms of thanatourism in Christian Western Europe—which he refers to as thanatopsis—could be found in such spectacles as the medieval Dances of Death, pilgrimages, and passion plays. These forms of thanatopsis served cathartic purposes for those who participated in them and regularized death "in everyday life." But in the nineteenth century's nexus of Romanticism, secularization, and industrialization, thanatourism emerged. Romantic conceptions of death "developed precisely ... when, in Western Europe, traditional religious and superstitious attitudes to death" diminished with increased secularization.²¹ Simultaneously, the Industrial Revolution increasingly provided the upper and middle classes easier means to travel. In the nineteenth century, "violent death became a consumer commodity, a spectator sport like tourism."²²

Lennon and Foley see thanatourism as an element of late modernity, emerging from the technologies that brought about the "collapse of time and space" and the growth of capitalism. This combination produced a consumer culture that commodified everything, including death and destruction, piquing people's interest in dark tourism. World War I battlefields qualified as some of the first dark tourism sites because the war touched almost every European family, and because moviegoing audiences could see actual war footage of those deadly battles. Instead of contempt and disgust, familiarity bred desire.²³

The appeal of Spanish Civil War tourism now begins to make some sense. Not only was there a long historical and spiritual precedent for pilgrims' and tourists' visiting places of death, but media images and sounds of the war proliferated through documentary news reels, feature films created by the war's belligerents, radio broadcasts, and photojournalism.²⁴ This barrage of easily digestible messages helped the Nationalist organizers of Spanish Civil War tourism commodify the war in ways that had not been possible before. Additionally, the ease with which people could now travel helped tourists compare "the truth" of what they saw on film and in print media with "the truth" they saw before them on the tours.

To hear Luis Bolín tell it, "Spain had much to gain from being known. We had nothing to hide, and there was no conceivable reason why we should not welcome visitors who would pay in foreign currencies for an experience which it had become my business to make pleasurable ... I was anxious to prove that war and travel were not incompatible." This is how Bolín, head of the National Tourist Board and undersecretary of the Ministry of the Interior during the civil war, recounts his idea for creating tours of battlefields during the Spanish Civil War in Spain: The Vital Years. In this apologia for the Franco regime, Bolín includes a short chapter outlining how and why he organized these tours, how successful they were, and how they dispelled any rumors of Nationalist atrocities during the war.²⁵

Nationalist leader Francisco Franco announced his first cabinet on January 30, 1938, and appointed Bolín as the head of the National Spanish State Tourist Department. His choice of Bolín for that role was not accidental. Bolín had been a regional delegate of the National Tourist Board during the 1920s. More important, he had displayed his logistical acumen by making all the travel arrangements for Franco's July 1936 insurrection. He chartered the airplane and pilot that ferried Franco out of the Canary Islands into Morocco, made arrangements to have people posing as tourists meet Franco on the islands in an attempt to take suspicion away from the rebellion, and personally met Franco in Morocco. Finally, at the beginning of the war, Bolín headed the foreign press services in the Nationalist headquarters at Salamanca, making him the chief contact for any foreign journalist who wanted to visit and report on details from the front.

This last point is the most germane to Bolín's tourism enterprise. As head of the foreign press services, he incurred journalists' ire for his self-important manner and the tight leash with which he held information about the war. Those who tried to write news even remotely critical of the Nationalists or to evade the strict censorship rules faced expulsion from Spain, incarceration, or death by shooting.²⁶ In his position he played a major role in creating and perpetuating the Francoist Crusade narrative, whereby the Nationalists spoke of reconquering in God's name a Spain that had been taken over by lawless, godless Communists. Bolín fed this trope to foreign correspondents, beginning with the story of the Siege of the Alcázar in Toledo during July 1936 and ending with his version of the destruction of Guernica in 1937.²⁷ His shift from foreign press manager to tour operator, therefore, was not as drastic as it might seem at first glance. In his new role, he could still perpetuate the Francoist mythos that he had begun crafting and feeding to foreign journalists.

Soon after Bolín's appointment as minister of tourism in early 1938, he announced that tours of the northern battle sites would be ready by July 1 of that same year. They would begin at the French frontier and end at Oviedo—"liberated four months before"—with "stops at San Sebastian, Bilbao, Laredo and Santander." His proposal met with skepticism, because when he made this announcement, "there were no buses and no guides, every bridge on the roads chosen had been blown up, hotels had to be refurbished and supplied." Complicating matters further, most of his staff from his days as a regional delegate under Primo were trapped in Madrid, which was still in the Republican Zone, leaving Bolín with only five assistants.²⁸

Despite the very real problems that Bolín faced in organizing these tours, he was confident he could succeed, because some infrastructure remained, he had the backing of military force, and the economic advantages of the tours outweighed the bureaucratic nightmares that might ensue. Bolín certainly did not need to create a tourist infrastructure from scratch. He admitted, "In our Zone, the Paradores [upscale hotels in renovated castles] and Albergues [inns] built in King Alfonso's time or later had continued to serve the public, and Tourist Information offices were also open, but both had to be reconditioned and cared for." Similarly, the path that tourists would follow in the War Route of the North overlapped in many places with seaside resorts that had been established in the late nineteenth century and that had continued to operate until the war broke out.²⁹

Bolín was keenly aware of the economic advantages of tourism. In his war memoir, he mentioned money five times, stating that he wanted to "welcome visitors who would pay in foreign currencies," and claiming that "we could even make money." He was confident that his mission would succeed: "because no country had ever opened its frontiers while fighting a war, I knew that my tours would sell themselves the moment they were announced." He planned his tours to coincide with the height of the tourist season in the French Riviera: "Biarritz and St-Jean-de-Luz ... would be full of summer visitors. Some of them would respond to our appeals, and once they did this the news would spread rapidly. Free publicity would not be lacking." He readily admitted that the Nationalists accepted people without visas or passports in order to "sell more tickets."³⁰ Elsewhere he noted that visitors on this tour would not go through border control at Irún, as most foreigners did; instead they would enter at the Hotel Jaúreguí in Fuenterrabia, because that place presented "another occasion for [tourists] to spend some money in Spain."³¹ Obviously, money trumped law and security.

Preparations for the tours began immediately. Bolín entrusted a man named Laureano de Armas Gourie to lay much of the groundwork for the northern tours. Sometime after late February and before April 20, 1938, Armas Gourie went on a fact-finding mission to the recently defeated northern front to learn about the land's "attractions, lodging, and diverse itineraries." Bolín then sent him on a month-long trip across Western Europe to "establish contact with the most important foreign tourist agencies [and] to arrange with them to send tourists on the 'War Route of the North.'" Bolín conveyed to Armas Gourie the need to promote the tours actively and to make alliances with governments sympathetic to the Nationalists' aims: "In Germany and Italy, at least," Bolín wrote, "you should visit the state organizations that develop tourism from a commercial point of view ... , especially the organizations similar to the F.E.T. de las J.O.N.S. [the Nationalist political party], which surely welcome our project with interest and will give them a way to get to know their affiliates." Bolín provided him with a list of contacts of both travel agents and Spanish officials allied with the Nationalists in these countries and told him to make sure that these officials gave this project their fullest support, but not to publicize the tours until the minister of the interior announced the project to the foreign journalists in Spain. Although it is not altogether clear why Bolín insisted on such secrecy, it was probably because he knew how audacious his project was—no insurgent government had subsidized tourism before—and because he wanted to control the publicity surrounding the tours.³²

Map 1: The Rutas de Guerra operating during the civil war. Map by Geoff Maas. Sources: "Itinerario F," 1938, Caja/Legajo 12028, Sección Cultura, AGA, Alcalá de Henares; "Itinerario de la Ruta de Andalucia o del Sur" and "Ruta de Guerra del Norte: Gráfico de las expediciones de 1 de julio a 1 de octubre," 1938, Caja/Legajo 12033, Sección Cultura, AGA, Alcalá de Henares; Michael Seidman, Republic of Egos: A Social History of the Spanish Civil War (Madison, Wis., 2002), 185.

Bolín's secret did not remain such for long. Harold Callender of the New York Times announced the plans for the Tour of the War Route of the North on April 28, barely a week after Bolín had written his memo to Armas Gourie. The article promoted the tour by appealing to the intrepid traveler and acknowledged that some people found death sites compelling: "The fact that the region, the Basque provinces and Asturias, was a theatre of war less than a year ago and still bears in some places scars of bombs, bullets and fire may add new interest for the tourist" (emphasis mine). The article continues, describing the bombed-out sites that tourists might encounter, including graphic descriptions of Guernica, which had been razed by German carpet bombers. While the article was probably not intended as a promotional piece for the National Tourist Board, parts of it read that way. It reminds us of what attracted many tourists to battle sites in earlier times: the quest for authenticity. After describing the destruction wreaked on Eibar, Durango, Amorebieta, and Guernica, Callender writes, "These four places give a visitor a hint of what modern war is like." Ending his piece on a more sinister note, he hints that the battlefield tours both sensationalized and ignored human misery: "At San Sebastián, it is said, there are 20,000 refugees from Republican Spain. But if the regime is determined to accommodate a few hundred tourists by preempting hotel rooms for them, it probably can do so."³³

Remarkably, Bolín succeeded in realizing his vision in a mere four and a half months, despite the real obstacles he faced in organizing these tours during wartime. The final touches for the tours were put in place by the end of June 1938. Fifteen guide-interpreters were hired;³⁴ Republican POWs rebuilt some of the areas that had been destroyed by battles in the previous year;³⁵ twenty yellow school buses were ordered from the Chrysler Corporation in the United States;³⁶ travel agencies across Europe distributed tourist brochures; and international newspapers publicized the upcoming events. On July 1, 1938, the first bus picked up its passengers at the International Bridge in Irún, on the French-Spanish border. Depending on the source one wants to believe, there were ten tourists, seven of them from Britain;³⁷ or four, "three French nuns and a left-wing English journalist";³⁸ or "the majority [of them were] English or Swiss."³⁹

Now came the necessary task of solidifying a series of Nationalist narratives that legitimated the uprising of July 18, 1936, and conformed to the Nationalists' vision of Spanish national identity while still providing tourists with the comforts of home and the recreational benefits of Spanish resorts. The Nationalists worked to accomplish this by sacralizing the battle sites and controlling tourists' access to information. This process can be seen most clearly in the brochure that went out to many tourist agencies and in the scripts that the guides read to tourists.

Those who advanced battlefield tourism during the interwar period, including during the Spanish Civil War, always straddled a fine line between good taste and crass commercialism. Marketing the horrors of war without offending people's sensibilities required a certain deftness. Promoters of this form of tourism often tried to present their tours as an educational forum for honoring a people's history or heritage.⁴⁰ Most organizations sold their tours as sober excursions meant to commemorate soldiers' great sacrifices to the nation. Organized tour operators expected their customers to ante up large sums of money to partake in a collective remembrance of the war, but they tried to take the commercial edge off these ventures by promoting them as a form of pilgrimage, by sacralizing particular secular sites. They used religious language to revere the fallen soldiers and issued warnings against vandalizing any part of the battlefield. Scholars such as George Mosse, however, suggest that organized battlefield tourism trivialized both the idea of pilgrimage and the wartime sacrifices of the dead, because tourists were inoculated against and distanced from the wretchedness of wartime conditions, often staying in luxurious accommodations and eating fine food near places of previous suffering. Although scholars and contemporaries of these travelers might have seen the incongruity between the tourists' and warriors' experiences, many tourists did not, and tour promoters, by emphasizing the sacredness of the wartime experience, made sure that tourists would not.⁴¹ Following in the footsteps of World War I battlefield tourism promoters, Spanish Nationalists tried various ways to invest the Spanish battlegrounds with holy and heroic qualities. All claims to sacredness were tied to place via names, frames, and dead bodies, and all served to justify the righteousness of the Nationalist cause.⁴²

The Nationalists began staking their sacral claims via the process of naming. Naming requires that a place is deemed worthy of special significance and preservation and is meant to evoke particular sentiments when called forth.⁴³ In the case of Nationalist Spain, naming included subsuming the names of numerous battles by regions of conquest—thus tours centered around the "War Route of the North" and the "War Route of the South." By naming the tours and circumscribing them geographically, the Nationalists symbolically legitimized what they had already accomplished by force of arms. But naming also occurred on a smaller scale. The buses that shuttled the tourists around the war routes were all named after battles that the Nationalists had already won: Badajoz, Oviedo, Huesca, Río Ebro, and Málaga. They thereby displayed their military victories both to tourists on the buses and to those people living in Spain who saw the buses wending through their cities and countryside.⁴⁴

Nationalists also sacralized the tourist spots by framing and elevating places along the tour, that is, by displaying or creating official boundaries around their "sacred objects." Because battle sites are less tangible to behold than holy relics, other means are necessary to make concrete the significance of these places. Therefore, tour guide commentaries framed particular narratives orally so as to define and elevate a location's importance for Spanish history.⁴⁵ Maps reinforced the meaning behind the speakers' scripts by providing a pictorial representation and reification of the sites' geographical limits. Tour guides told people why these places were sacred and why it was necessary to fight over them, and the maps provided tourists with a representation of the boundaries worth fighting for.

The Nationalists also used mechanical reproduction effectively to sanctify their tours. According to MacCannell, "mechanical reproduction of the sacred object: the creation of prints, photographs, models or effigies of the object which are themselves valued and displayed" is "the phase of sacralization that is most responsible for setting the tourist in motion on his journey to find the true object."⁴⁶ The Nationalists applied mechanical reproduction in numerous ways. They printed more than 100,000 tourist brochures, with approximately seventy pictures of the places that tourists would see, some of which had already been reproduced in newsreels shown around the industrialized world. By "precoding" what tourists would see before they visited Spain, the Nationalists had already begun to shape how people should view the Rutas de Guerra.⁴⁷ Additionally, when tourists began the War Route of the North tour, they were handed a short pamphlet explaining how the "reconquest" occurred. It showed travelers a detailed route that they would follow. Also included was a transparency with arrows on it that tourists could superimpose on the map they had been given. That way, they could "easily and rapidly see the advances of the columns that reconquered the Cantabrian provinces."⁴⁸ Through mechanical reproduction, the Nationalists staked their claims to place and visually reinforced the narratives found in the tourist scripts. Additionally, they sanctioned some journalists to follow, interpret, and mechanically reproduce the tours in newspapers and magazines for their readers at home. They provided a tantalizing glimpse of what many of their readers might not be able to see on their own, created a desire in others to visit the sites, and increased the social cachet of those who had been able to witness them.

Finally, dead bodies provided the Nationalists with the right to occupy these spaces in Spain. As Verdery explains, the "corporeality [of dead bodies] makes them important means of localizing a claim." Through the tourist brochures, maps, tourist scripts, and on-site visits to the places where Nationalist soldiers had recently been buried, the Nationalists concretely drew attention to their bodily sacrifices in their struggle to reclaim the land. Just as the Nazis looked to the heroic fallen German soldiers at Ypres (1914) as a foundational myth of Nazi Germany, so Spanish Nationalists valorized their own heroic blood-spilling in the war to claim leadership of Spain. Nationalist deaths were the necessary price for Spanish redemption.⁴⁹

In the case of the Spanish Civil War, turning the battlefields into sacred ground did more than just shield tourists from the commercial nature of the venture; it provided a context for crafting narratives about Spain's national identity.⁵⁰ Given that the Nationalists had rebelled against the Spanish Republic, their political legitimacy, both nationally and internationally, was at stake. Tourism, and the publicity that came with it, provided a way for them to alter the political discourse. Their tourist narratives built on and crystallized many thematic elements that the Nationalists had already introduced during the civil war into the foreign and domestic press, in the schools, and on both radio and film. The Nationalist narratives maintained that the Republicans had destroyed Spain's national unity and the Spanish social order. Therefore, the Nationalists were justified in staging the military coup that brought about civil war.

Before the war and during the traumatic years of the Second Republic (1931–1936), politicians, intellectuals, and activists contested the nature of Spanish national identity. For many supporters of the Republic, Spanish national identity had its roots in liberalism and the Enlightenment, in the belief in individual rights, a constitution, representative government, and the separation of church and state. For these people, Spanish society was pluralistic; the Spanish nation could still be strong, even if Basques and Catalans achieved regional autonomy within the Spanish state. Opponents, however, viewed many of the laws promulgated under the Republic as illegitimate. Those who would later support the Nationalist cause believed that the Republicans had turned their backs on Spain's history and culture. This Spain, ruled by a strong monarchy closely allied with the Catholic Church, brooked no regional nationalisms, promoted an imperial foreign policy, and functioned organically, with all members of society knowing their place within the social and political hierarchy.⁵¹

But the Republic, riven by many competing interests and visions, eventually broke down. Street fighting, assassinations, waves of strikes, and attempted revolutions increased in the years preceding the war, feeding a credible fear that Republican officials could not maintain public order. Therefore, on the pretext of restoring public order, the Nationalists began their rebellion in July 1936, and on this claim and others having to do with Spanish national identity, they founded their myth that the Republicans were illegitimate leaders. Also, as scholar Paloma Aguilar points out, the Nationalists declared the Republicans illegitimate because they were unable "to defend Spanish interests, to preserve the legacy of the Catholic tradition and protect the sacred unity of the Patria." This narrative, which the Nationalists used to establish the legitimacy and necessity of their revolt, in combination with another one that eulogized the Nationalists' sacred struggles on the battlefield, dominated the discourse of Nationalist battlefield tourism. In fact, the two narratives permeated both the tourist brochure and the tourist scripts for the Rutas Nacionales de Guerra. They would also continue to be the reigning narratives of the Franco regime.⁵²

A poorly designed brochure of more than seventy images—a razed Guernica placed below bucolic pictures of sheep—would seem destined to deter tourists from entering the country. (See Figures 1–2.) But Luis Bolín thought that the tourist brochure his office produced for travel agencies was "the best advertisement to attract the tourist to our grounds."⁵³ Aesthetics aside, the brochure is important because the text and images conveyed to national and international tourists highlighted the themes that would preoccupy the Franco regime: the Spanish Civil War as Crusade and the exaltation of Spain's Catholic and medieval past. These narratives, however, were strangely juxtaposed against the backdrop of a recreational tourist narrative. This conflation of wartime propaganda and old-fashioned tourism is one way that Spanish battlefield tourism differed from battlefield tourism in other countries that preceded it.

Figure 1: Front of brochure advertising the Rutas de Guerra. Reproduced courtesy of the Southworth Spanish Civil War Collection, Mandeville Special Collections Library, University of California, San Diego.

Figure 2: Back of brochure advertising the Rutas de Guerra. Reproduced courtesy of the Southworth Spanish Civil War Collection, Mandeville Special Collections Library, University of California, San Diego.

The tour organizers' attempts to sacralize civil war battles and glorify the Nationalists' struggles begin immediately in the brochure, under the heading "The Path of War in Spain," where they link the Nationalists' recent battles with exalted ones of the past. The brochure opens with reverent descriptions of sacred battle sites: "Battlefields are places where the tourist lays aside mere curiosity and pays homage to the heroic deeds of the fallen. Thus, the Thermopylae, Rocroy and Waterloo; thus the hills, trenches and fields of the Somme and Verdun still preserved and shown by France with legitimate pride." The next paragraph then links the present conditions in Spain historically and rhetorically to these older, sacred sites: "National Spain is the first country that has organized visits in Wartime to battlefields which are not only the scenes of recent strife but famous in a struggle that has filled the world with its echoes." Sprinkled throughout the text are reminders of the Nationalists' tribulations, the price they paid to defend Spanish soil: "It is now impossible to stand in the midst of its wild scenery without remembering the epic incidents of this War in which Spanish heroes have surpassed themselves." Amid descriptions of the marvelous "golf, flyfishing and chamois stalking" awaiting the participants, the brochure exalts Oviedo, the "invincible city which by resisting a desperate siege of fifteen months' duration did so much to decide the war in the North." The land of fallen Nationalists, then, merits visits from tourist-pilgrims.⁵⁴

One of the striking aspects of this brochure is the subtle appearance of a "Crusade narrative." During the civil war, and until Franco's death, Franco and Nationalist sympathizers characterized their part in the war as a reprise of the medieval Crusades; only this time the Nationalists were fighting a Holy Crusade against godlessness, Communism, and regional nationalisms. It was the Nationalists' duty to stamp out these evils in order to restore Spain's former imperial glory, and the narrative underlying parts of the tourist brochure's text and many of its photographs bears the mark of this "Holy Crusade."

The top row of pictures in the brochure looks innocent enough: there are numerous scenic vignettes that sightseers might find attractive, but other surrounding photographs negate such a placid reading. The brochure's front cover, a picture of the bombed-out Simancas barracks, where Asturian miners laid siege to and eventually killed Nationalist soldiers in August of 1936, invokes the Nationalists' suffering. Under the map, the next row begins a series of photographs representing conquest and humiliation. The first picture, titled "Red fortifications," demonizes the enemy by linking it with Soviet Russia. The next picture depicts the small town of Guernica razed by bombs. Of all the destroyed places the Nationalists could have picked to display for their tour, this was the most cynical choice, given that unarmed civilians were the target of German bombs there. Guernica was also seen as the heart of Basque nationalism. It housed the "Tree of Liberty," the symbolic representation of Basque traditional, sovereign rights. If one missed the point in this particular photograph, a picture in the next row also emphasized this particular reading of the narrative. Standing on each side of the "Tree of Liberty" are two Requetés—Carlist soldiers from the Basque country who fought with the Nationalists—placed as if to declare the conquest of this bastion of separatism.

Out of eighteen small photos in the next row, eight deal with the violence of the war and imply that the "Reds" had no respect for history, art, or religion. They appear, at first glance, simply as objective pictures of Republican military fortifications that might interest battlefield tourists. But the next two rows then revert to what looks like a traditional tourist brochure, with pictures of the Spanish countryside and some of the landmarks that the tourists will visit. The other side of the brochure describes both a bucolic and a cosmopolitan Spain that could fulfill the fantasies of the leisure tourist. But surrounding the text is a militarized tableau that clashes tremendously with the typical tourist brochure chatter. At top and center is a portrait of Generalísimo Franco, and below him are photos of six Nationalist generals. There can be no doubt about who the victors and the vanquished are as the reader follows the pictures that border the text. The soldiers are everywhere, staking out their newly conquered territory: on the left, soldiers march through the Picos de Europa, and on the right, soldiers stop in a village by the roadside, while civilians look on. Soldiers sleep against walls in villages, they forge across rivers whose bridges have been destroyed, and they pose with youthful vigor. The victory is complete with civilian crowds of women gleefully walking while carrying a Spanish flag, lending civilian legitimacy to the Nationalist victory.

Whereas these photographs demonstrate total occupation of the north by Nationalist soldiers, others show Nationalist subjugation of the Republicans. Defeat is marked on the land by the destruction of Amorebieta, and on the people by the photographs of Republican POWs. One picture shows some Republican POWs behind bars; another displays hundreds of prisoners herded together like cattle in the Santander bullring. The Nationalists did not merely choose to "pay homage to the heroic deeds of the fallen." They sought to demonstrate total victory in their Crusade against the left.

Related to the Crusade narrative is a medieval Catholic narrative, another theme that the Franco regime would later pursue, and one that is evident in the landmarks that tourists were supposed to visit. The Nationalists cast themselves as Crusaders in a new Reconquista, this time against the godless Reds and traitorous separatists. Although the Crusades made up a part of the medieval Catholic narrative, the narrative I am speaking of is broader, including such subjects as the exaltation of the Reconquista and religious pilgrimages. For example, tourists visited the castle of the Knights Templar in Castro Urdiales. The Knights Templar fought in the Crusades; both a military and a religious order, they combined the military prowess and religious piety that Franco so admired in his medieval heroes and in himself. Covadonga was also on their route. Covadonga held a special place for Franco—in fact, he often took his vacations there—for it signaled the birthplace of the Reconquista, whereby Pelayo, after receiving a vision of the Virgin Mary, repelled the Moors from the village. Franco often envisioned himself as a modern-day Pelayo or El Cid, ready to retake by force a Spain that had been tainted by foreign blood and ideologies.⁵⁵

Not all of this Catholic narrative was about modern conquest, however. Some of the points of interest consisted of holy places that formed part of the Santiago de Compostela pilgrimage route. Included here were San Vicente de la Barquera, Liébana, and Santillana del Mar, an important medieval pilgrimage center. Despite the sprinkling of sites of Spanish Catholic piety, most of the messages about Catholicism in this brochure and in the tourist scripts derived from a lexicon of embattled Catholicism. At the same time, the religious imagery gave the tour a patina of religious respectability; some tourists, at least, could see themselves as pilgrims visiting holy sites.

In sum, this tourist brochure provided a visual framework that emphasized military conquest at all costs while valorizing Nationalist soldiers' deeds. The text accompanying the array of photographs, however, undercut the visual messages. Whereas the images in this brochure were often brutal, the text relied on tired touristic clichés and described a soft and romantic landscape: "The whole of Northern Spain is an orchard. Its varied mountainous landscapes spread innumerable shades of green before the traveller ... and display their manifold charms at all points of the road."⁵⁶ Such romantic imagery could almost make one forget that a war had been fought here less than a year before this tour, and that killing and destruction were still ongoing elsewhere in Spain.

Whereas the tourist brochure acted as propaganda to entice people to visit Spain, additional shaping of Nationalist narratives through framing and elevation occurred once people arrived in wartime Spain. For their narratives to appear authoritative, the Nationalists had to be perceived as legitimate rulers. The fact that they could organize tours during wartime, and that they (not the Republicans and not the French) were responsible for giving people safe passage across sealed borders, endowed the Nationalists with a certain credibility. With that basic legitimacy established, they used their guide-interpreters to reinforce the messages they wanted to convey to domestic and international tourists. Because the guides had passed rigorous tests on Nationalist versions of Spain's history and geography, they possessed a certain authority about how the war had unfolded and could project their knowledge confidently to tourists.

The tour scripts that survive contain the same odd assortment of "facts" that one sees in the tourist brochure. Many begin by outlining the Nationalists' battle strategies, but scattered among the descriptions of gunfire are tributes to magnificent architecture and antiquities, followed by descriptions of Republican wartime atrocities. Although the narratives are disorganized, the scattershot portraits begin to have a montage effect, revealing a Manichean world view that persisted throughout the Franco regime.⁵⁷ The Nationalists' strength lay in creating propaganda that included both truths and lies about Republican atrocities in order to make the Nationalists' reasons for starting the civil war appear warranted. The Nationalists demonized their Republican enemies as cowardly, stupid, and bloodthirsty, and presented the Nationalists as valiant, God-loving patriots who had been terrorized by their enemies but had managed to overcome all odds and reconquer Spain from the "Red separatists." They had saved Spain from those who tried to cause it irreparable harm. The Nationalists would use versions of this particular narrative in the postwar era to justify persecuting their Republican enemies. The Nationalists envisioned themselves as necessary avengers of the terror, real and putative, that the Republicans had unleashed on the civilian population, both before and during the war. According to them, the Republicans perpetrated terror in many ways: on the population, on history, on religion, and on infrastructure. Therefore, the scripts reflected the Nationalists' revulsion toward the Republicans, whom the Nationalists accused of foisting atheism on the population, dismantling Spain's supposed unified national identity, and committing acts of brutality.

The Nationalists directed their venom most fiercely against people in the Basque country, because, although many people in the region were devout Catholics, they chose to side with the Republicans over the issue of regional autonomy. Discussing Bilbao and the accommodation between Basque separatists and the forces of "anti-national, anticapitalist, and atheistic Marxism," the narrative blames the "band of separatists and the hordes of fiends" for "the burning of Irún, Eibar, Amorebieta and Guernica" and for "the persecutions and mass shootings, sackings of cities and expatriation of children." The narrative then begins to enumerate Republican atrocities: "Once the Red separatist conglomerate was achieved, then began the reign of terror ... They resorted to the disgraceful act of taking people from their houses in the middle of the night and ... between gulps of wine they made a decision about one's life or death. They killed to kill ... What did one more cadaver matter?" The tour scripts detailed how Republican sympathizers forced imprisoned priests to dress up in miliciano uniforms and sing the Internationale, or required them to march around naked in front of heckling audiences.⁵⁸ Republicans comported themselves no better in the south. Right before the war in Seville, representatives of the Popular Front government robbed and killed prominent members of the right. In Grazalema, between Ronda and Jerez, "the Reds committed nineteen assassinations."⁵⁹ Indiscriminate killing and disorder reigned.

The severity of these particular atrocities is not disputed by scholars. However, all context is missing from these Nationalist narratives. The greatest Republican war crimes were committed at the beginning of the war, and much of the killing was done unsystematically by unorganized bands of people. After the September and October prisoner assassinations, the civilian Basque government tried to scale back the number of killings and took away control of the jails from the CNT, alienating many working-class radicals in the process.⁶⁰ On the other hand, Nationalist atrocities continued systematically throughout the war, and the highest officials ordered them. The tour scripts, however, make no mention whatsoever of Nationalist terror. This is not a debate about which side committed more acts of savagery; rather, it is a question of narrative shaping and of how those stories would be used to convince international tourists—and by extension, the international community—of the necessity for a Nationalist victory. Similarly, these tales, so carefully repeated during the tours, would haunt the defeated in very real ways until the end of the Franco dictatorship: people known to have sympathized with the Republic were often killed, jailed, denied jobs, or stripped of their pensions.

According to these scripts, the Republicans breached all limits of decency by committing acts of terror on history and art. Many of the tour guides emphasized the Republicans' purported disdain of Spain's culture and history. In Eibar, the Republicans were accused of destroying a religious sanctuary. In Durango, Republicans turned sacred churches and convents into profane military barracks and desecrated mummies in the church of San Pedro de Talvira.⁶¹ Republicans also robbed Spain of its cultural heritage by stealing paintings and moving them to Bilbao. They stood accused of looting and destroying the "national artistic treasure."⁶² Such desecration demonstrated that the Republicans could not be trusted to rule Spain.

Finally, according to the narrative fashioned by the National Tourist Board, the Republicans terrorized the people by destroying the infrastructure of towns and cities. Every tour script for the War Route of the North referred to bridges that the Republicans had blown up—the concern seems almost obsessive. But bridges were not a trivial matter, because the drivers could not take tourists to planned sites when makeshift bridges were washed out.⁶³ Arson, however, was the Republicans' worst violation. This particular charge best illustrates the technique by which the Nationalist narrative strove to blame Republicans for crimes they had not committed and to convince the international community that the Nationalists had started the war for very sound reasons. As tourists were taken to Irún on the first leg of their tour, Bolín told them, "All this destruction was not caused by artillery fire, but resulted from systematic incendiarism and dynamiting by the enemy."⁶⁴ At the beginning of the war, anarchists did burn down Irún, in a scorched-earth policy. But the Nationalists expanded on this fact to accuse the Republicans of setting fire to all the towns the Nationalists had conquered on the northern front. Journalists and religious figures sympathetic to the Franco regime who went on the tours then spread these stories to their international audiences.

For the bombing of Guernica, the most famous of the cases, the Nationalists claimed that the Republicans had set fire to and bombed their own houses and buildings, just as they had in Irún. In fact, Bolín was responsible for creating and perpetuating the Guernica myth and thus became the most important link between journalism, tourism, and Francoist mythmaking.⁶⁵ When tourists went through Bilbao and the guide told them about the real massacres of Nationalists that had occurred in Republican prisons in 1936 and the Basque government's subsequent cover-up, he then linked the massacres to Guernica: "It was much easier to blame the rebels" than those "truly at fault [the Basque government] ... In Guernica they were going to give a similar case. What did it matter that the population of Guernica were left without a home! Blaming the rebels left everything solved; moreover, it served as propaganda abroad."⁶⁶ On the visit through Eibar, tourists would hear: "One hundred houses are fuel for the flames. Just as in Irún, just as in Guernica ... ; it wasn't the war that caused these ruins! ... It was international Marxism without God and without Patria."⁶⁷ The Nationalists therefore could claim that they had restored order to Spain, even if their means of doing so had been illegal and brutal. Moreover, they had sacrificed their own blood for this greater good.

Word of mouth and massive publicity campaigns helped fill these tours almost immediately. Two days after the first tour began in Irún, an alternative route started in Tuy, Galicia, mainly to serve Portuguese tourists. The tours ran every other day from July through October, and the following year the tour season began in May. By December 1938, a War Route of the South, also known as the Route of Andalusia, began catering mostly to British and Italian tourists, who could enter Spain via Gibraltar. The tour buses for both the northern and southern routes departed as scheduled, and they often picked up tourists at stops along the route.⁶⁸ It is important to note, however, that foreign tourists could not travel around Spain by themselves; they had to take part in these officially sanctioned tours. Italian and British travel agencies were especially successful at sending tour groups to Spain. One Italian agency, in fact, counted on sending one tour every month.⁶⁹ The National Tourist Board also arranged special itineraries for large groups of tourists. Guides transported some 100 to 150 people from the Italian Societa Nazionale "Dante Alighieri" along the Southern Route, 264 Spanish conference-goers from the Congreso de Ciencias through parts of northern Spain, 53 pilgrims of the Bishopric of Calahorra along the pilgrimage route to Santiago de Compostela, and 200 "Friends of Spain" from France.⁷⁰

Who were these tourists? Although we do not always know who they were or how many people went, journalistic accounts and archival evidence suggest that they came from all over Europe; at least some Australians also joined the tours.⁷¹ According to Bolín, most of the tourists were "writers, lecturers, and preachers," professionals who had access to large audiences to whom they could disseminate what they learned from the tours. Some tourists "came to ascertain how Spain was faring under the stress of civil war, some were genuine tourists eager for a bargain, and a few collected background material with which to substantiate lurid accounts, published later abroad, of repression and hunger behind our lines."⁷² Other evidence demonstrates that those who toured already sympathized with the Nationalist cause. They were most often Catholics, conservatives, or members of the radical right. For example, many Italians visited Spain, because Spanish Nationalists encouraged links to Italian fascists through official channels. A travel agent at Chiari Sommariva in Milan noted, "We have the pleasure to announce to you that our Agency has decided to organize, approximately each month, a trip to Spain with the purpose of visiting the Rutas de Guerra and to tighten still more the bonds of affection that unite the Spanish and Italian peoples."⁷³ Although Bolín asserted that the tours were a bargain, the price of the tours, the time required to take a nine-day vacation, and the accommodations provided ensured that the clients had to be relatively well-off.⁷⁴ This Nationalist desire for wealthy tourists with right-wing sympathies comes together explicitly in a letter from a man named Rafael Jorro, who had been hounding Bolín to get commissions for publicizing and selling tickets to people in Britain. He complained that he could not drum up much business in Scotland because Scottish Catholics were poor: "[T]here are very few people who have the means to undertake this trip among those who would like to. In Glasgow, the immense majority of our sympathizers come from the middle class to the poor, and the wealthiest are Protestants and, for the most part, are not our friends."⁷⁵ When the civil war ended and World War II began, Spaniards became the chief consumers of Spanish battlefield tourism, filling the vacuum left by other European tourists.⁷⁶

Although we have impressionistic sketches of who took the tours and where they came from, this information tells us nothing about how people experienced them. The few available eyewitness accounts come from journalists and/or intellectuals, and the timing of their articles—the first few weeks after the enterprise began—underscores the possibility that the Nationalists paid for their trips in order to get good publicity. In the case of a Portuguese delegation, there is no doubt that this happened. In July 1938, the ambassador of Nationalist Spain in Portugal invited twenty-two people to visit Spain, including seven journalists and the president of the Automobile Club of Portugal; and of those twenty-two people, fifteen belonged to the Uniâo Nacional, the only legal political organization of the right-wing, authoritarian Salazar regime.⁷⁷ Other accounts favorable to the Franco regime's point of view came from L. F. Auphan, who wrote for the French monarchist journal L'Action Française. He penned a series of articles called "Ten Days in the North of Spain Conquered by Franco." (See Figure 3.) George Ravon, a writer for the French conservative paper Le Figaro, gave probably the most objective of the journalists' accounts of the tours; and finally, the English reporter A. J. Cummings of the left-wing newspaper the News Chronicle managed to evade the Nationalist censors and wrote a piece critical of the tours.⁷⁸ The fact that many of these journalists may have been invited because of their pro-Francoist sympathies still makes it difficult to discern how "ordinary people" took in the scenery, but there are some conclusions we can draw about how people were supposed to receive information about Spain, especially when the journalists stray from their scripted parts.

Figure 3: Cover of L. F. Auphan's series of articles translated from L'Action Française. Reproduced courtesy of the Southworth Spanish Civil War Collection, Mandeville Special Collections Library, University of California, San Diego.

All of these accounts agree on one point: that the Nationalists had restored order in places that had been theaters of war the year before. Everybody now labored constantly in factories and fields. The Nationalists provided food, even to their enemies. Despite the bombed-out buildings that remained, life in the Nationalist-controlled towns had "the appearance of normality."⁷⁹ Certainly, this was one of the Nationalists' primary goals and justifications for putting on the tours: to show the outside world that they were the only legitimate power capable of maintaining order. And to that degree, they succeeded in disseminating their message to international audiences through these journalists.

The journalists' experiences of the tours diverge somewhat after that. Those who shared the political leanings of the Franco regime parroted what Bolín's scripts have already told us. They spoke of "Red atrocities," of disorder, of Marxist blasphemers, and they lionized the Nationalist troops. Even the language the journalists used mimicked that of the scripts. About Guernica, Auphan wrote that the Basques had bombed their own city, "just like Irún, Eibar, and Durango."⁸⁰ On the other hand, Cummings, who knew that the Nationalists expected him to write favorable stories about them, regaled his readers with sardonic descriptions of his encounters with Bolín's tour guides. When a guide told him that the "Reds" had fired on the "shattered houses" in Guernica, he said, "again and again I had to point out with mild insistence the obvious signs of shelling and bombing."⁸¹ George Ravon refused to take sides in explaining the destruction of Guernica. He could conclude only that "the martyrdom of Guernica is not a work of whites nor of reds. The martyrdom of Guernica is the work of war."⁸²

How these journalists recounted "Red atrocity" stories demonstrates that some of them had already made up their minds about who the war's heroes and villains were. The Portuguese journalists and the French journalist Auphan repeated many of the horrific tales they had heard from the tour guides in order to justify the Nationalist takeover of Spain, and perhaps to lure more tourists across the border. Auphan recounted the numerous "summary executions" in Santander. What seems clear from accounts such as Auphan's and, by extension, those of the Nationalists is that they attempted to create a war martyrology to elevate the place of the Nationalists in Spanish history and to bring in pilgrims to these now-sacred atrocity sites. The best example of how a contemporary martyrdom site was created comes out of Auphan's extended description of brutal acts in Santander. He says that when the Republicans occupied Santander, they took the Nationalist suspects to a promontory for interrogation. If the suspects did not provide the Republicans with the proper information, they were thrown over the cliffs into the ocean. Auphan adds that after the Nationalists entered Santander, they saw hundreds of cadavers floating vertically in the water. A footnote written by the Spanish translator of this French article adds yet another layer to the horror story by claiming that the writer forgot to mention that the cadavers were found with their mouths sewn together with wire. This detail, the translator says, was reported in l'Oeucre [sic] Latine de Paris on October 1938, an issue that was dedicated to reviewing the pilgrimage of French Catholics to Nationalist Spain.⁸³ The atrocity sites of Santander became one more stop for Catholic pilgrims on the way to the biggest pilgrimage site of them all, Santiago de Compostela. The dead Nationalists could now be added to the pantheon of martyrs, and more important, the site now linked together the two pillars of the Franco regime—the Catholic Church and the Nationalist state.

In contrast, Cummings took a more jaundiced view of these horror stories. He said, "I was regaled with the usual stories of 'Red atrocities'—one at least of which was demonstrably untrue—and of course the hundreds executed by Franco's tribunals ... were merely 'Red' criminals to whom stern justice had been meted out." Instead of repeating those stories, he chose to take note of the concentration camp in Santander, which he was not allowed to visit. In a description dripping with sarcasm, he says, "[The prisoners] are treated so well ... and set free so readily, if they are not 'proved criminals,' that I could not understand why 30,000 Basque men and women should still be in prison without trial and why 200,000 others should have fled from the paradise of Franco's occupation."⁸⁴ With those words, he undercut the Nationalists' carefully controlled narratives and presented a less than legitimate picture of the regime to British audiences.

Despite the macabre and dangerous nature of these tours, the Nationalists succeeded in bringing tourists to war-ravaged Spain. The Nationalists accumulated more than seven million pesetas in profit from the venture, "almost nine times the money disbursed in the first instance of rolling stock and initial capital."⁸⁵ Although there are no reliable statistics on the number of people who took the tours, one could estimate from a sampling of the tour logs that between 1938 and 1945, anywhere between 6,670 and 20,010 people traveled the Rutas de Guerra.⁸⁶ Foreign tourism declined at the beginning of World War II, but then Spaniards replaced the foreigners who could no longer occupy seats on the bus. The tours were extended to cover Madrid, Barcelona, "and other cities." When World War II ended, Bolín turned over the government sponsorship of the tours "to allow private initiative a free hand." He claimed that the revenue from the tours had "exceeded the most optimistic calculations."⁸⁷ Between the end of World War II and the early 1950s, the Spanish tourist industry functioned in a limited capacity, because the Spanish infrastructure had been destroyed by both three years of civil war and postwar autarky. By the early 1960s, tourism to Spain began to be promoted forcefully by the new minister of tourism, Manuel Fraga, who lured tourists with his famous slogan "Spain is different."⁸⁸ Instead of focusing on the war, the Spanish state repackaged itself as a "fun" and unspoiled destination where European tourists could soak up sun and surf.

One cannot say with certainty whether the Rutas de Guerra's negative propaganda about the Republicans truly persuaded large numbers of people to turn against Spain's Republic or, later, to affirm Nationalist legitimacy. But the Franco regime pursued these propagandistic strategies with the belief that they would work. Battlefield tourism became one of many entry points for Francoist propaganda campaigns that lasted until the 1970s. The tour script narratives mimicked the propaganda that Bolín had first served to foreign journalists at the beginning of the war, and these same narratives would later be found in newspapers, textbooks, and documentary films, and in war commemorations, ceremonies, and memorials.⁸⁹ All these devices served to construct a collective historical memory of the war as a Crusade, with the Nationalists representing the Christian warriors and Republicans cast as an updated version of the infidel Muslims. Spain's national identity was at stake, and the regime never stopped reminding Spaniards or foreigners of that fact. Indeed, one could claim that Spain became the first nation to use tourism during wartime to stabilize a national identity that was currently in flux.⁹⁰

The Spanish case confirms that thanatourism and its cousin heritage tourism are inextricably linked to interpretations of history, politics, and identity. Purveyors of these forms of tourism use them to politicize the past, and if successful, they create a collective memory of that past that helps to shape a group's understanding of a place's present and future. Thus, as media savvy has increased over the last hundred years, groups in power have increasingly understood tourism as a way to limit undesirable interpretations of contested grounds.⁹¹

Only after the death of Franco did people in Spain begin to come to grips with the ghosts of the civil war and to dissect the narratives that various official channels had carefully constructed and repeated for more than forty years. Outside of scholarly works and newspaper accounts, this confrontation with the past has been slow in Spain, mainly because the architects of the new Spain consciously chose to avoid the type of response demonstrated by the South African Truth and Reconciliation Committee.⁹² Recently, the Association for the Recovery of History and Memory pushed José María Aznar's government to fund the exhumation of Republican mass graves, which had been hidden from the public since the end of the civil war, giving credence to the notion that "the politics of corpses is about reorienting people's relationship to the past."⁹³ They also called for the reburial of Republican soldiers and citizens in proper graves, giving the war dead the honors long due them, and withdrawing the Francoist symbols that still remain in public view.⁹⁴ At last, some sixty years after the Spanish Civil War ended, it may soon be possible to tour the battlefields and finally do what the Nationalists challenged tourists to do during the war: pay homage to the heroic deeds of the fallen.⁹⁵

I could not have written this article without the input of numerous people. Thanks to the audience at the Society for Spanish and Portuguese Historical Studies, who asked questions that led me to pursue fruitful research. Thanks also to Bob Rundstrom and Todd Shepard, who read the first draft and showed me (mercifully) where to cut; to the anonymous readers of the AHR, who provided thoughtful criticisms; to the staff of the Southworth Spanish Civil War Collection at the University of California, San Diego, for photographing the pamphlets; and to Geoff Maas for making the map. Michael Grossberg eased the revision process at the AHR by treating me with professionalism and kindness. Finally, I would like to express my gratitude to Melissa Stockdale and Ray Canoy, who gave up precious time to read and comment on many versions of this article. Their patience, fortitude, and friendship are invaluable.

Sandie Holguín, an associate professor of history at the University of Oklahoma, received her doctorate at the University of California, Los Angeles. She is a cultural and intellectual historian of modern Europe, with a particular interest in modern Spain. Her book Creating Spaniards: Culture and National Identity in Republican Spain (2002), which was translated into Spanish as República de Ciudadanos: Cultura e identidad en la España republicana (2003), explores the relationship between cultural politics and the creation of national identity. She is currently doing the research for a book on the cultural history of flamenco from the eighteenth century until the death of Francisco Franco.

Notes

¹ "National Spain Invites You to Visit the War Routes of Spain," 1938, Southworth Spanish Civil War Collection, Mandeville Special Collections Library, University of California, San Diego.

² The War Route of the North tour would begin on May 1 from 1939 on. After the civil war ended, the War Routes became known as the Rutas Nacionales de España (Spain's National Routes).

³ "National Spain Invites You to Visit the War Routes of Spain." The buses were, in fact, twenty American school buses bought from the Chrysler Corporation. See Luis A. Bolín, Spain: The Vital Years (Philadelphia, 1967), 304; see also "Copias de los telegramas cruzados entre la S.E.I.D.A. y la Chrysler Corporation," 1938, Caja/Legajo 28060, Sección Cultura, Archivo General de la Administración (hereafter AGA), Alcalá de Henares.

⁴ I have found no evidence of official organized tourism on the Republican front. Although the Republic did invite foreign visitors to survey conditions on the war front and home front, there was nothing as organized as what the Nationalists carried out after 1938.

⁵ This is different from, say, the First Battle of Bull Run (Manassas) during the U.S. Civil War, when civilians decided to watch the fighting from the sidelines and then traveled back to their homes to sleep, or the Boer War, when Cook's Travel Agency organized excursions to the battlefields while the war was still occurring. The Spanish case was state-sponsored by an illegitimate government. That is, the Nationalists attempted a coup d'état on July 17–18, 1936. Their failure to attain power immediately led to protracted fighting that transformed into a civil war.

⁶ "National Spain Invites You to Visit the War Routes of Spain."

⁷ John B. Allcock, "International Tourism and the Appropriation of History in the Balkans," in Marie-Francoise Lanfant, John B. Allcock, and Edward M. Bruner, eds., International Tourism: Identity and Change (London, 1995), 109–110.

⁸ Katherine Verdery, The Political Lives of Dead Bodies: Reburial and Postsocialist Change (New York, 1999), 3, 25. A good example from Spain of Verdery's thesis on the symbolic richness of dead bodies is the fight between Republican exiles and the Franco regime over the interment of musical composer Manuel de Falla's body in 1946. See Raanan Rein, "Introduction: A Political Funeral," History and Memory 14, no. 1/2 (2002): 5–12.

⁹ A. V. Seaton, "From Thanatopsis to Thanatourism: Guided by the Dark," Journal of International Heritage Studies 2, no. 2 (1996): 232–244; cited in A. V. Seaton, "War and Thanatourism: Waterloo, 1815–1914," Annals of Tourism Research 26, no. 1 (1999): 131.

¹⁰ As scholar Jozsef Borocz says, "The emergence of tourism ... presupposes ... the transfer of a certain amount of surplus value to wages spent on such types of nonessential consumption as leisure travel ... [it] also presupposes that free time be regulated and packaged in weekly and annual blocks ... The standardization, normalization, and commercialization of free time is one of the most obvious outcomes of this struggle. Thus, industrial capitalism is a key factor in the emergence of the institution of leisure migration." Jozsef Borocz, "Travel-Capitalism: The Structure of Europe and the Advent of the Tourist," Comparative Studies in Society and History 34, no. 4 (1992): 713.
The literature on battlefield tourism has grown significantly in recent years. A small sampling of some of the more recent works that cover the topic includes Modris Eksteins, "War, Memory, and the Modern: Pilgrimage and Tourism to the Western Front," in Douglas MacKaman and Michael Mays, eds., World War I and the Cultures of Modernity (Jackson, Miss., 2000); John Lennon and Malcolm Foley, Dark Tourism: The Attraction of Death and Disaster (London, 2000); Stephen L. Harp, Marketing Michelin: Advertising and Cultural Identity in Twentieth-Century France (Baltimore, Md., 2001); David Wharton Lloyd, Battlefield Tourism: Pilgrimage and the Commemoration of the Great War in Britain, Australia, and Canada, 1919–1939 (Oxford, 1998); Seaton, "From Thanatopsis to Thanatourism"; George L. Mosse, Fallen Soldiers: Reshaping the Memory of the World Wars (New York, 1991); Seaton, "War and Thanatourism"; Stuart Semmel, "Reading the Tangible Past: British Tourism, Collecting, and Memory after Waterloo," Representations 9, no. 69 (2000): 9–37; and J. M. Winter, Sites of Memory, Sites of Mourning: The Great War in European Cultural History (Cambridge, 1996). Although works on tourism sometimes differentiate between tourists and travelers, I prefer to focus instead on the Nationalist regime's desire to use the modern tourism industry as a way to legitimize Franco's rule and to create narratives about Spanish national identity. For theoretical discussions on tourists and travelers, see Shelley Baranowski and Ellen Furlough, eds., Being Elsewhere: Tourism, Consumer Culture and Identity in Modern Europe and North America (Ann Arbor, Mich., 2001); Rudy Koshar, "What Ought to Be Seen: Tourists' Guidebooks and National Identity in Modern Germany and Europe," Journal of Contemporary History 23, no. 3 (1998): 323–340; Lloyd, Battlefield Tourism; Dean MacCannell, The Tourist: A New Theory of the Leisure Class (New York, 1999); Tom Selwyn, The Tourist Image: Myths and Myth Making in Tourism (Chichester, 1996); and John Urry, The Tourist Gaze: Leisure and Travel in Contemporary Societies (London, 1990; repr., 1999).

¹¹ Thomas Cook began his first tour in July 1841 for Britons who wanted to attend a temperance meeting. The company began "organizing package tours to Switzerland (1863), Italy (1864), the USA (1866), Egypt (1869)," and Spain (1872). M. Barke and J. Towner, "Exploring the History of Leisure and Tourism in Spain," in M. Barke, J. Towner, and M. T. Newton, eds., Tourism in Spain: Critical Issues (Wallingford, 1996), 9; Lloyd, Battlefield Tourism, 15.

¹² Borocz, "Travel-Capitalism"; Koshar, "What Ought to Be Seen."

¹³ Many articles in Baranowski and Furlough, Being Elsewhere, discuss the importance of tourism to national identity. See also Allcock, "International Tourism and the Appropriation of History in the Balkans," for the ways in which tourism promoters try to solidify identities that are always being contested.

¹⁴ Seaton, "War and Thanatourism," 130. See also Semmel, "Reading the Tangible Past."

¹⁵ Seaton, "War and Thanatourism," 133; Lloyd, Battlefield Tourism, 19; Seaton, "War and Thanatourism," 138–139; Semmel, "Reading the Tangible Past," 26–27.

¹⁶ The most famous destinations were the First Battle of Bull Run (Manassas) in the U.S. Civil War (1862), various battles of the Franco-Prussian War (1870–1871), and the Boer War (1899–1902), where people picnicked amid slaughter. For a discussion of the emergence of battlefield tourism, see Lloyd, Battlefield Tourism, 20–21.

¹⁷ The ONT enlisted Pierre Chabert to visit the United States and Canada to learn how to entice North American tourists to France's shores. Chabert mistakenly believed that as many as 600,000–700,000 Americans would visit France right after the war, and that they would gravitate to the battlefields. See Harp, Marketing Michelin, 94–95.

¹⁸ Eksteins, "War, Memory, and the Modern," 153–154.

¹⁹ Mosse, Fallen Soldiers, 154; Eksteins, "War, Memory, and the Modern," 157.

²⁰ Lennon and Foley, Dark Tourism; Seaton, "From Thanatopsis to Thanatourism."

²¹ Seaton, "From Thanatopsis to Thanatourism," 236–237, 238.

²² Ibid., 237.

²³ Lennon and Foley, Dark Tourism, 7–8. Dean MacCannell makes this same point in The Tourist.

²⁴ Anthony Aldgate, Cinema and History: British Newsreels and the Spanish Civil War (London, 1979).

²⁵ Bolín, Spain, 302, 303. Bolín published this work in both English and Spanish in 1967, at the height of Spain's new tourist boom. Francie Cate-Arriés makes a compelling argument that Bolín's work functions (1) as a "kind of travel manual for foreigners" because of the way his recollection of the civil war is "suffused throughout with the friendly tones of a tourism brochure," and (2) as "one of several concurrently published 'official' texts that sought to commodify for sale to an English-speaking audience—and potentially future tourists—palatable images and acceptable messages regarding various facets of the Franco regime, including the Nationalist version of the Spanish Civil War." Cate-Arriés, "Frontline Tours and Memories of the Civil War: Luis Bolín's Spain: The Vital Years," Revista Canadiense de Estudios Hispánicos 24, no. 2 (2000): 265.

²⁶ For the conditions facing foreign journalists and their attitudes toward Bolín, see Herbert Rutledge Southworth, Guernica! Guernica! A Study of Journalism, Diplomacy, Propaganda and History (Berkeley, Calif., 1977), 45–49; Judith Keene, Fighting for Franco: International Volunteers in Nationalist Spain during the Spanish Civil War (London, 2001), 45–94; and José-Mario Armero, España fue noticia: Corresponsales extranjeros en la Guerra Civil Española (Madrid, 1976). One person who faced Bolín's wrath was the writer Arthur Koestler: "Bolín and another officer held pistols on Koestler, while a third tied his hands behind his back with wire. Koestler was sentenced to death but then freed in a prisoner exchange." Southworth, Guernica! Guernica!, 48.

²⁷ For varying accounts of Bolín's role in propagating the story of the July 1936 Siege of the Alcázar in Toledo, see Alfonso Bullón de Mendoza y Gómez de Valugera and Luis Eugenio Togores Sánchez, El Alcázar de Toledo: Final de una polémica (Madrid, 1997); Paul Preston, The Spanish Civil War, 1936–1939 (London, 1986), 66; Hugh Thomas, The Spanish Civil War, 3rd ed. (Harmondsworth, 1986), 156–157; Southworth, Guernica! Guernica!, 46. In terms of the Guernica myth, in accordance with which the Republicans bombed themselves to make the Nationalists look bad, Southworth meticulously documents Bolín's role in its creation and perpetuation in his monograph Guernica! Guernica!

²⁸ Bolín, Spain, 302.

²⁹ Ibid. The seaside resorts in northern Spain are discussed in John K. Walton and J. Smith, "The First Century of Beach Tourism in Spain: San Sebastian and the Playas del Norte from the 1830s to the 1930s," in Barke, Towner, and Newton, Tourism in Spain.

³⁰ Bolín, Spain, 302, 303, 304.

³¹ Luis A. Bolín, "Proyecto para organizar la entrada en España de los turistas que visitarán la Ruta de Guerra del Norte a partir del próximo 1 de julio," 1938, Caja/Legajo 12033, Sección Cultura, AGA, Alcalá de Henares. The New York Times also mentions the financial benefits of the tours: "It is admitted in official circles here that the foreign exchange brought into the Nationalist treasury by the tourists will, of course, be much appreciated." William P. Carney, "Battlefield Tours Started in Spain," New York Times, July 3, 1938.

³² Luis A. Bolín, "Letter from Minister of Interior to D. Laureano de Armas Gourie," 1938, Caja/Legajo 12033, Sección Cultura, AGA, Alcalá de Henares.

³³ Harold Callender, "Rebel Spain Seeks Visits by Tourists," New York Times, April 28, 1938.

³⁴ "Rebels Seek Tourist Guides," New York Times, May 22, 1938.

³⁵ William P. Carney, talking about the tourist itinerary, says, "Then they will inspect Oviedo, Asturias' 'mountain capital,' a mere shell of its former self, but already being rebuilt by 2,000 war prisoners." Carney, "Battlefield Tours Started in Spain."

³⁶ A series of mishaps and financial power struggles threatened to delay the start of the tours. The buses arrived only three days before the tours were to begin. In late April and early May of 1938, the Spanish auto import company managing the bus imports for the Nationalists—S.E.I.D.A.—negotiated and renegotiated the price for the buses from the Chrysler Corporation. Misunderstandings about the price of the buses, as well as about the Nationalists' bank credit limits, slowed down the importation of the buses and almost delayed the start of the tours for about two weeks. See "Copias de los telegramas cruzados entre la S.E.I.D.A. y la Chrysler Corporation"; Bolín, Spain, 304.

³⁷ Carney, "Battlefield Tours Started in Spain."

³⁸ Bolín, Spain, 304.

³⁹ "Los primeros turistas por la Ruta de Guerra del Norte," ABC, July 7, 1938.

⁴⁰ Seaton, "From Thanatopsis to Thanatourism," 244.

⁴¹ Scholars of the Great War have tried to make distinctions between battlefield pilgrims and battlefield tourists, privileging the former over the latter, but as David Wharton Lloyd points out, the distinction between the two terms may be blurrier than one might imagine: "The language of the sacred and the act of pilgrimage both infused and were in conflict with battlefield tourism. The interaction between the two modes of travel was a product of the concurrent development of a tourism industry and the renewal of the practice of pilgrimage in the years prior to and after the war." Lloyd, Battlefield Tourism, 4. In the same vein, Suzanne K. Kaufman, who studies religious pilgrimages, argues against the binary opposition of "tourist" and "pilgrim." She says, "Scholars of tourism need to move beyond an idealized view of Christian pilgrimage that depicts it as a premodern act immune to change. In fact, this definition of pilgrimage is itself a nineteenth-century creation. It emerged at the exact moment when pilgrimage and tourism were becoming indistinguishable." Kaufman, "Selling Lourdes: Pilgrimage, Tourism, and the Mass-Marketing of the Sacred in Nineteenth-Century France," in Baranowski and Furlough, Being Elsewhere, 80. See also Eksteins, "War, Memory, and the Modern"; Harp, Marketing Michelin; Mosse, Fallen Soldiers.

⁴² Scholars do not agree on how tourist sites become sacred, since many different factors contribute to the process. Certainly, not every tourist site is consciously consecrated. I am indebted to MacCannell, Seaton, Fine, Haskell, and Verdery for their analysis of sacred sites and sacred bodies. According to MacCannell, the five stages occur in this order: naming, framing and elevation, enshrinement, mechanical reproduction, and social reproduction. For a detailed explanation of those stages, see MacCannell, The Tourist, 44–45. A. V. Seaton has explored MacCannell's stages of sacralization in connection with his own work on Waterloo as a tourist destination and has concluded that only two of the five stages are necessary to sacralize a site: naming and mechanical reproduction. Seaton, "War and Thanatourism," 152–153. Fine and Haskell argue that oral commentaries during a tour also help to sacralize a site and can be an oral substitute for MacCannell's idea of framing and elevation. Elizabeth Fine and Jean Haskell, "Tour Guide Performance as Site Sacralization," Annals of Tourism Research 12 (1985): 73–95. For the use of dead bodies as markers of sacred sites, see Verdery, The Political Lives of Dead Bodies, esp. 44–53.

⁴³ Of course, names are multivalent, and their sacred function can differ. Witness, for example, the different meanings of the Alamo among Anglos, Tejanos, and Mexicans.

⁴⁴ "Autocares," in Archivo General de la Administración. See Sección Cultura: Caja/Legajo 12026 (Alcalá de Henares, ca. 1939); Bolín, Spain, 304. Interestingly enough, the use of conquered place names as political signifiers reappears with the words "Saarland," "Bohemia," and "Sudetenland" painted on armored vehicles used by the Danzig SS to attack the Polish post office in the disputed city on September 1, 1939. See the early Nazi propaganda films Campaign in Poland, Baptism of Fire, and Victory in the West. For a discussion of these films, see Thomas Sakmyster, "Nazi Documentaries of Intimidation: Feldzug in Polen (1940), Feuertaufe (1940) and Sieg im Westen (1941)," Historical Journal of Film, Radio, and Television 16, no. 4 (1996): 485–515. A special thanks to Ray Canoy for alerting me to this reference.

⁴⁵ Seaton, "War and Thanatourism," 140–143. For the importance of tour guides for oral framing, see Fine and Haskell, "Tour Guide Performance as Site Sacralization."

⁴⁶ MacCannell, The Tourist, 45. Here is where MacCannell is at his most original, turning Walter Benjamin's thesis about mechanical reproduction on its head. Whereas Benjamin argues that an object's aura diminishes the more times it is mechanically reproduced, MacCannell contends that an object's mystique and desirability actually increase as a result of reproduction. For example, in MacCannell's model, Picasso's Guernica has gained its aura through reproductions in textbooks around the world. See Walter Benjamin, "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction," in Benjamin, Illuminations: Essays and Reflections, ed. and with an intro. by Hannah Arendt (New York, 1968). It is possible to argue that mechanical reproduction serves both purposes—sacralization and commodification. The media attention given to "Ground Zero" in New York City produced both pilgrims and thanatourists, as witnessed by both solemn memorials for the dead and vendors selling "I Survived Sept. 11th" t-shirts.

⁴⁷ For the idea of "precoding," see Seaton, "War and Thanatourism," 152.

⁴⁸ Bolín, "Letter from Minister of Interior to D. Laureano de Armas Gourie."

⁴⁹ Verdery, The Political Lives of Dead Bodies, 27–28. For the Nazi "concept of heroism as a form of national identity," and the relationship of Ypres to that identity, see Jay W. Baird, To Die for Germany (Bloomington, Ind., 1990), esp. xi–xii and 1–12.

⁵⁰ Most historians agree that Spanish national identity was weak throughout the nineteenth and at least the first third of the twentieth century. For discussions of Spanish nationalism in this period, see Sandie Holguín, Creating Spaniards: Culture and National Identity in Republican Spain (Madison, Wis., 2002); José Alvarez Junco, Mater Dolorosa: La idea de España en el siglo XIX (Madrid, 2001); Carolyn Boyd, Historia Patria: Politics, History, and National Identity in Spain, 1875–1975 (Princeton, N.J., 1997); Clare Mar-Molinero and Angel Smith, eds., Nationalism and the Nation in the Iberian Peninsula: Competing and Conflicting Ideologies (Washington, D.C., 1996).

⁵¹ For a discussion of the culture wars and national identity during the Second Republic and the civil war, see Holguín, Creating Spaniards.

⁵² Paloma Aguilar, Memory and Amnesia: The Role of the Spanish Civil War in the Transition to Democracy, trans. Mark Oakley (New York, 2002), 46. Aguilar also adds, "This need to delegitimize the political adversary had been felt even before the war began, although it became stronger during the course of the war itself and even more intense during the postwar period." Ibid., 46. Other works dealing with Francoist propaganda during and after the war include Gonzalo Santonja, De un ayer no tan lejano: Cultura y propaganda en la España de Franco durante la guerra y los primeros años del Nuevo Estado (Madrid, 1996), and Herbert Rutledge Southworth, Conspiracy and the Spanish Civil War: The Brainwashing of Francisco Franco (London, 2002).

⁵³ Luis A. Bolín, "Letter from Minister of Interior to D. Laureano de Armas Gourie." This brochure was the one originally sent out to travel agencies across Europe. As the tours grew, individual tourist agencies created their own brochures, which were decidedly less political than the ones disseminated by the National Spanish State Tourist Department.

⁵⁴ "National Spain Invites You to Visit the War Routes of Spain."

⁵⁵ For the symbolic appropriations of the Covadonga site in modern Spain, see Carolyn Boyd, "The Second Battle of Covadonga: The Politics of Commemoration in Modern Spain," History and Memory 14, no. 1/2 (2002): 37–64.

⁵⁶ "National Spain Invites You to Visit the War Routes of Spain."

⁵⁷ I call these documents "tour scripts" because they seem to be written instructions for what the guide should say. They also contain directions to the various sites. For the northern tour, I found guides for San Sebastián to Bilbao, Bilbao, Bilbao to Santander, and three versions for the "Iron Ring." I was aided by a report in the New York Times for the Irún section of the tour. For the southern tour, which was more sparsely represented in the archive, I found guides for Seville, from Ronda to Jerez de la Frontera, and for Cádiz.

⁵⁸ "Ruta del Norte: Bilbao," 1938/1939, Caja/Legajo 12028, Sección Cultura, AGA, Alcalá de Henares.

⁵⁹ Servicio Nacional del Turismo, "Ruta de Andalucia: Sevilla," 1938, Caja/Legajo 12025, Sección Cultura, AGA, Alcalá de Henares.

⁶⁰ See Gabriel Jackson, The Spanish Republic and the Civil War, 1931–1939 (Princeton, N.J., 1965), 285–286; Michael Seidman, Republic of Egos: A Social History of the Spanish Civil War (Madison, Wis., 2002), 93; Thomas, The Spanish Civil War, 308, 431 n. 1, 540.

⁶¹ "Ruta del Norte: De San Sebastián a Bilbao," 1938, Caja/Legajo 12028, Sección Cultura, AGA, Alcalá de Henares.

⁶² "Itinerario turístico para el recorrido de la porción batida del Cinturón de Hierro de Bilbao," 1938/1939, Caja/Legajo 12028, Sección Cultura, AGA, Alcalá de Henares. In fact, Republicans did disassemble art works when they acquired them. The Committee for the Requisition and Protection of Artistic Patrimony campaigned to save national cultural treasures. See Holguín, Creating Spaniards, 170.

⁶³ See logs from Servicio Nacional del Turismo, "Tour Log, September 9, 1938," Caja/Legajo 12030, Sección Cultura, AGA, Alcalá de Henares. Because the bridge between Cangas de Onis and Arriondas was destroyed, they could not go to Covadonga, and therefore the tour guides changed the itinerary. At each wooden bridge, the tourists got off the bus so that it would be as light as possible when it was driven across. See also Servicio Nacional del Turismo, "Tour Log, September 6, 1938," Caja/Legajo 12030, Sección Cultura, AGA, Alcalá de Henares.

⁶⁴ Carney, "Battlefield Tours Started in Spain."

⁶⁵ For a full discussion of Bolín's role in the Nationalists' campaign to blame the Republicans for bombing Guernica, see Southworth, Guernica! Guernica!

⁶⁶ "Ruta del Norte: Bilbao."

⁶⁷ "De San Sebastián a Bilbao." This myth is repeated in Bolín, Spain, 274–282.

⁶⁸ Although it is not possible to determine exactly how many people actually participated in the tours (not all of the tour logs were saved), a small sampling of tour logs from the War Route of the North demonstrates that the numbers were respectable, especially when we consider that the war was still going on and that many Europeans were certain that another European-wide war was looming on the horizon. The logs report the following: July 10–19, 1938, Tuy–Santander, twenty passengers; September 6–15, 1938, Tuy–Santander–Tuy, four passengers; September 18–30, 1938, special tour of the pilgrims of Calahorra, fifty-three passengers; October 3–12, 1938, San Sebastián–Oviedo–San Sebastián, twenty-five passengers; October 11–19, Irún–Oviedo–Irún, four passengers. Servicio Nacional de Turismo, tour logs for July 10–19, September 6–15, September 18–30, October 3–12, October 11–19, 1938, Caja/Legajo 12033, Sección Cultura, AGA, Alcalá de Henares.

⁶⁹ British Overseas and Continental Travel, "Northern Spain," 1939(?), Caja/Legajo 12034, Sección Cultura, AGA, Alcalá de Henares; S. A. Chiari Sommariva, "Letter to Sr. Jefe del Servicio Nacional del Turismo, Castilla de Santa Catalina, Málaga," 1938, Caja/Legajo 12033, Sección Cultura, AGA, Alcalá de Henares.

⁷⁰ Luis A. Bolín, "Letter to José María Torroja," 1938, Caja/Legajo 12030, Sección Cultura, AGA, Alcalá de Henares; Bolín, Spain, 304; Societa Anonima: Instituto Italiano e Propaganda Turisanda, "Letter to Bolín," Caja/Legajo 12033, Sección Cultura, AGA, Alcalá de Henares; Servicio Nacional del Turismo, "Tour Log, September 18–30, 1938," Caja/Legajo 12030, Sección Cultura, AGA, Alcalá de Henares.

⁷¹ For Australian participation, see Servicio Nacional del Turismo, "Tour Log, October 11."

⁷² Bolín, Spain, 304.

⁷³ Chiari Sommariva, "Letter to Sr. Jefe del Servicio Nacional del Turismo, Castilla de Santa Catalina, Málaga."

⁷⁴ According to David Lloyd, "For most of the interwar period the average industrial wage for [British] men and boys was only £3 per week. A British Institute of Public Opinion Survey published in 1939 showed that only one-third of workers earning £4 per week or less could afford to go away at all ... As late as 1937 only four million workers out of a workforce of eighteen and a half million earning £250 per annum or less were entitled to paid holidays." Lloyd, Battlefield Tourism, 38. See also John Stevenson, British Society, 1914–1945 (Harmondsworth, 1984), 122.

⁷⁵ Rafael Jorro, "Letter to Luis Bolín," 1938, Caja/Legajo 12033, Sección Cultura, AGA, Alcalá de Henares.

⁷⁶ Bolín said that "Spaniards, living in peace, wanted to know their country." Bolín, Spain, 306.

⁷⁷ See Beatriz Correyero Ruiz, "Las Rutas de Guerra y los periodistas portugueses," Historia y Comunicación Social, no. 6 (2001): 123–134; "Personalidades portuguesas en la Ruta de Guerra del Norte," ABC, July 12, 1938.

⁷⁸ L. F. Auphan, "Diez días en el norte de España conquistado por Franco," L'Action Française, August 1, 1938; George Ravon, "De los trágicos despojos del cura de Santillán al Martirio de Guernica," Le Figaro, July 28, 1938, reproduced and translated in Armero, España fue noticia, 237–240; A. J. Cummings, "In Franco Spain," News Chronicle, July 26, 1938; Cummings, "In Franco Spain: I Have Seen Guernica," News Chronicle, July 29, 1938.

⁷⁹ Cummings, "In Franco Spain."

⁸⁰ Auphan, "Diez días en el norte de España conquistado por Franco," 13.

⁸¹ Cummings, "In Franco Spain."

⁸² Armero, España fue noticia, 240.

⁸³ Auphan, "Diez días en el norte de España conquistado por Franco," 21, 22–23.

⁸⁴ Cummings, "In Franco Spain."

⁸⁵ Bolín, Spain, 306.

⁸⁶ Using the dates of the tours projected by the National Spanish Tourist Board, I calculated that there were around forty-two tours in 1938 and eighty-eight tours each year from 1939 to 1945. Using a low of two passengers per tour to a high of thirty per tour (each bus actually accommodated thirty-three passengers), I came to the numbers stated above.

⁸⁷ Although Bolín is often unreliable in his interpretation of events, especially his interpretation of why the civil war took place, he is pretty reliable about more empirical data. For example, his discussions of the numbers of people on the specific tours from the Bishopric of Calahorra or the Congreso de Ciencias are verifiable from other archival sources. Because of this, I am taking his number of 7 million pesetas at face value. I am also willing to believe these figures because it is unlikely that he would have continued to offer these tours after the initial season if they had not been profitable. Bolín, Spain, 304–306.

⁸⁸ Fernando Bayón Mariné, ed., 50 años del turismo español: Un análisis histórico y estructural (Madrid, 1999); Rafael Esteve Secall and Rafael Fuentes, Economía, historia e instituciones del turismo en España (Madrid, 2000).

⁸⁹ For a thorough recounting of how and why the Franco regime constructed these narratives in the post–civil war era, see Aguilar, Memory and Amnesia.

⁹⁰ Even though the National Spanish Tourist Board privatized the battlefield tours after 1945, and although tourism tended to focus more on recreation and heritage after the 1950s, one could still find the ideology of these tours repackaged in the late 1960s. A group known as Le cercle historique et politique, in conjunction with General Tours of Paris, advertised a tour for October 4–17, 1968, titled "Spain of the Reconquest." This tour covered the former northern and southern routes of the Rutas de Guerra with the addition of visits to battle sites in Madrid, Barcelona, and Teruel. Despite the name of the tour, it did not cover the medieval Reconquista but rather the Spanish Civil War. Besides being able to eat dinner with members of the Falange in Madrid, tourists could visit Córdoba, the place "where Nationalists resisted fiercely for eight months." In Málaga, they would tour the city "famous for its massacre of Nationalists." So although a private French tour agency was responsible for organizing the tours to Spain for French tourists and history buffs, the agency uncritically used the rhetorical language and historical narratives created in the 1930s by the Nationalists. "Le cercle historique et politique et l'agence de voyages 'General Tours' vous proposent l'Espagne de la reconquête," 1968, Southworth Spanish Civil War Collection, Mandeville Special Collections Library, University of California, San Diego.

⁹¹ For a sampling of works that look at the relationship between thanatourism or heritage tourism and politics, history, and identity, see Baranowski and Furlough, Being Elsewhere; Lennon and Foley, Dark Tourism; Kenneth E. Foote, Shadowed Ground: America's Landscapes of Violence and Tragedy (Austin, Tex., 1997); Koshar, "What Ought to Be Seen"; and Bertram M. Gordon, "Warfare and Tourism: Paris in World War II," Annals of Tourism Research 25, no. 3 (1998): 616–638.

⁹² See Aguilar, Memory and Amnesia. See also Michael Richards, "From War Culture to Civil Society: Francoism, Social Change and Memories of the Spanish Civil War," History and Memory 14, no. 1/2 (2002): 93–120, esp. 102 and 116 n. 34: "There was never any homage to Republican veterans even to the modest extent of that paid by the Spanish parliament to International Brigade veterans in November 1996 on the occasion of the 60th anniversary of their arrival in Spain to aid the government."

⁹³ Verdery, The Political Lives of Dead Bodies, 112.

⁹⁴ In fact, the last public statue of Franco in Madrid was taken down on March 17, 2005. See http://newswww.bbc.net.uk/1/hi/world/europe/4357373.stm for the latest chapter of this story.

⁹⁵ As of this writing, there is discussion in Spain about using the Valley of the Fallen, the Franco regime's memorial to the Nationalist dead and Franco's burial place, as a "memorial to his victims," and as a "study and education center" to "explain to people the meaning of the dictatorship and its horrors." Elizabeth Nash, "Monument to Franco May Be Converted into Memorial to His Victims," The Independent, March 29, 2005.

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