Original subtitles

On this land nothing grew.

And all was desolation,

Wind and Sun.

All life came from the Sea.

And from the marriage of Sea and Sun,

Salt was born on this land.

One day,

some men set foot on this barren land

where nothing grew,

where all was desolation,

Wind and Sun.

And they called this land

It was around 1500...

And those men returned to Spain

with amazing news of an immense salt marsh

"larger than human eyes had ever contemplated. "

In those days, salt was as precious as gold.

And Araya became so famous that the King

to protect it, built a fortress,

the second largest in the West Indies.

Pirates, slave traders,

pearl merchants, salt robbers

had made of Araya

the center of piracy in the Caribbean.

What effort to build this fortress

with materials brought from so far away,

in the sun,

without water, without food.

How many men died in that endeavor!

But the abundance of salt was such

that the governor wrote to the King. ;

"One thousand ships could be loaded at the same time,

"return in twenty days

"and start over again, the whole year round..."

Many years passed.

Costly and useless, the fortress was demolished.

More years passed...

More centuries...

Under the implacable sun,

under the harsh skies...

What remains of Araya?

What is left of its fame?

Of its past?

What became of the slave traders,

the pearl merchants,

the buccaneers?

What of them?

450 years have passed

between that day of discovery

and this breaking dawn.

Another dawn,

the same as so many others,

over the salt, over the wind,

over the dry land of Araya,

one more day is about to begin.

It's 6 in the morning.

And under the first Sun,

the men of Araya are already delivering their salt.

Already they are forming pyramids with the salt

brought from the lagoon the day before.

Today, just like yesterday,

with their hands, with their shovels,

with the strength of their arms,

they reinitiate the daily ritual of the salt.

They reencounter their same ancient gestures,

and start again endlessly under the same sun.

Today, just like yesterday,

across the centuries,

men continue to make their living from the salt marsh.

Today, just like yesterday,

Sun and Sea have not ceased to make Salt

and this,

is the only wealth of these men.

Their gestures always identical, ritualistic, exacting.

Gestures of the salt that rises in pyramids,

that is worked,

carried shoulder high,

washed until blood flows.

Gestures of the salt,

noria of salt and time, never ceasing.

White gold from the sea.

Salt washed with men's sweat.

Salt of the salt miners,

hard crystal of the wind.

Gestures always identical,

noria of salt and time,

never ceasing.

There was never more pure, more beautiful,

than the salt of Araya,

travelers would say.

Salt of the salt miners,

hard crystal of the wind.

Pure and white salt of Araya.

And these pyramids that corrode the skin,

men make and unmake unceasingly,

and time flows,

as if passing through an hourglass

endlessly turning over.

Salt of the salt miners.

Gestures for centuries repeated.

Pure and white salt of Araya.

And the salt leaves the pyramids forever.

For centuries, the salt boat

has been the only link with the outside world.

And the salt of Araya

begins its journey.

Day comes to La Puntilla.

Beltr�n Pereda, born in Manicuare,

has spent all night extracting salt from the lagoon,

and now, in each "mara,"

he delivers 140 pounds of salt.

In the salt marsh, each family works as a team.

There are four Peredas.

Fortunato is 25 years old,

he has spent 15 years helping Beltr�n,

15 years of nights without sleep.

After Fortunato comes C�sar.

C�sar is 9 years old,

and a future of salt awaits him.

To�ico is the youngest,

and this will be the sole memory of his childhood.

C�sar and To�ico wash the salt

gathered during the night.

C�sar spreads it to be dried by the sun.

Beltr�n and Fortunato will deliver this salt tomorrow.

Today, they deliver yesterday's salt.

The round of the salt can not must not be halted.

One day, C�sar will take Fortunato's place,

and Fortunato that of Beltr�n,

thus, the gestures of the salt

shall be indefinitely perpetuated.

Day also breaks on the other side of the lagoon.

D�maso Salazar and his son, Nemesio,

leave at dawn, to go and "cut" salt,

as they say.

D�maso and Nemesio are day salt miners,

and they will work from sunrise to sunset.

Some go. Others come.

The marsh is never alone.

On land, Benito Salazar,

the other son, delivers the salt that his father, D�maso,

and his brother, Nemesio,

gathered yesterday in the lagoon.

Benito and his youth,

tracing and retracing the paths of the salt.

Benito and his arduous daily task.

Benito's "mara" was not the exact weight.

Florentino's watchful eye had noticed it.

Petra,

Petra Salazar, Benito's and Nemesio's mother,

wife of D�maso,

has made her life at the foot of the pyramids.

Petra, the salt packer,

for her, too, the weight must be exact.

And her look is dry and bright, like the salt.

And for Benito, salt and sweat, sweat and salt,

until the end of time.

And his day's labor has barely begun.

And once again, the inherited gestures,

the fragile architecture of salt

and its pathways.

Eighteen miles away,

the enclosed marsh is no more,

only the open sea.

Dawn also breaks on Escarceo's shores

for the fishermen returning from their long night at sea.

And ahead of them, too,

a day like any other is about to begin.

The men of Cruz Vasquez

all come from the village of El Rinc�n.

Hour after hour, under the rising Sun,

they will pull the "mandinga,"

haul on the ropes and gather in the nets

that they cast last night on the open sea.

Adolfo Ortiz is one of them.

He is returning from another night at sea.

Another night on that sea,

all of whose secrets he knows.

At dawn, from the village,

the women have spotted the returning boats,

and Isabel, Adolfo's wife, comes

as she does every morning,

to wait for the fish with her daughter, Carmen.

Adolfo has spent many years pulling the "mandinga,"

tracing the coast line, listening to the tides,

trailing the winds and steering home from the sea.

His boat is called

"La Sensitiva."

All sustenance in Araya

depends on these men,

for on this land nothing grows

and all life comes from the Sea.

The Sea... will it provide today?

And the same waiting, hoping, begins anew

each morning under the Sun.

Carmen,

she too, waits,

waits for the shells, the corals,

the starfish...

and everything the Sea wants to give her.

The morning advances white and hard

over La Puntilla, over the Peredas' pyramid, ever taller.

And already the Sun begins to beat down on Araya.

For Beltr�n, Fortunato and the others,

the round of the salt has not stopped.

C�sar and To�ico finish washing the salt cut during the night.

For them,

the day's work on the vast salt marsh is over.

On a crust of burning salt,

feet and legs ulcer quickly

and on open skin, salt is a deep wound.

For a long time, Fortunato, his feet gnawed away by the salt,

could not come to work.

For each "mara,"

Beltr�n receives a token.

Each token is worth 50 cents.

And to earn it, the four Peredas have worked night and day.

For 40 years,

Beltr�n has worked in the salt marsh,

and today he has carried 70 "maras" of salt.

Beltr�n Pereda, 70.

Thus ends one more day

of salt delivery in Araya.

The borders of the marsh remain alone.

Alone remains,

the shimmering salt.

"Pillote 19,"the Peredas� pyramid,

was completed this morning.

Beltr�n and his sons, after ending their night vigil

and their dawn delivery,

set off for their village, Manicuare,

six miles from the salt marsh.

It's 9 o'clock.

And the Sun beats down

even more on Araya.

D�maso and Nemesio approach the area where they cut their salt.

At 10 o'clock,

the siren concedes the packers a hard earned break.

At dawn, as soon as the salt boat appeared on the horizon,

the siren invaded the depths of every house,

shattered women's dreams and drove them to the foot of the pyramids,

to scoop, to stitch, to weigh.

At any hour of the day or night,

the boats that come to fetch the salt

rule the work and lives

of the salt packers.

Village of the Salazars.

Village of the daytime salt miners.

Once, where these houses stand,

under the same sun,

in the days of the fortress,

there was a time when splendor reigned of which only the name remains.

And Araya is the name of the village where the Salazars live.

The same name as the whole Peninsula.

And the Salt enters Petra's house

to become, at last, table salt.

D�maso and Nemesio reach the place where they cut their salt.

The Sun is even higher.

Ever stronger.

D�maso and Nemesio are just getting started.

A "salary"

is the salt earned for a day's work.

That was the first meaning of the word.

The Conquistadors paid their soldiers with salt.

In those days,

salt was as precious as gold.

The waiting will not have been in vain.

Today, the Sea has been generous.

And everyone will benefit.

Again,

the ritual gestures are reinitiated. And again,

the Word comes true. ;

In Araya,

all life, all sustenance,

comes from the Sea.

And today's abundance

allows other fishing tasks.

There will be food in every house

and surplus to sell.

The beach becomes deserted.

The first burst of excitement has subsided.

Isabel just received her husband Adolfo's share.

Now she can prepare what is to be sold,

and give Carmen the family portion.

Under the Sun, ever higher and more glaring,

Isabel and her neighbors will go from village to village,

selling their fish along the Peninsula.

And their lively hawkers' cries will be heard everywhere.

And the net will unite again the men of the fishing boats.

And again, they will rediscover the daily brotherhood

to live

and survive.

From Escarceo to El Rinc�n,

Carmen does not return straight home.

She wanders along, gathering shells,

playing with the Sea.

And Carmen, on the solitary beach,

in the clearness of the morning,

pursues her games with the Sea.

In El Rinc�n, the fishermen's village,

the water truck arrives at last.

El Rinc�n has 60 houses,

and the truck brings 1,850 gallons of water.

Angelica, hurry up, the truck's here!

I'm going!

Without springs,

without trees, without rain,

Araya is a desert,

and the water from the mainland

barely quenches an ancient thirst.

Geralda, the eldest women of the village

administers the water for the women.

From the Ortiz' house comes Angelica,

Carmen's elder sister.

She will spend all morning

coming and going

from the house to the truck, and back again,

storing water for the whole family.

Each family, depending on its size,

is allocated a certain amount.

There are 16 in the Ortiz family,

and this water

will have to do for everything and everyone.

Thus passes the morning in El Rinc�n.

Carmen returns with the family share,

and Grandmother is at home.

She is in charge of preparing the corn.

And Carmen,

what does she live on?

Some fish,

some corn,

... and her seashells.

Isabel and her neighbors from El Rinc�n

arrive in the village of Araya with the fresh fish.

The streets glitter under the hot Sun.

It's 11 o'clock.

Over the land, over the sea,

a steamy haze rises from the burned earth.

And again, the women�s songs are heard in the white washed glare.

Isabel will go from door to door,

and Petra Salzar, the salt packer,

is her first customer.

What have you got there?

Corocoro, chicharra, carite, tajali...

How much for the carite? Two bolivars a kilo.

And the corocoro? Three for one bolivar.

And the chicharrita? Ten cents.

I won't buy your fish anymore. First, pay what you owe me.

Give me one bolivar more in credit.

She buys five for one bolivar and sells them for six!

She doesn't care if I earn any money!

Keep your money! Take the fish!

I'll go elsewhere.

And so, Isabel makes her way,

filling the Araya morning with her cries.

Chicharrita, carite, fresh corocoro!

Everyone, at every hour

of every day, carries out their own task.

In Manicuare, at the Peredas' house,

it is also time to buy the fish for Daria, the wife of Beltr�n,

the man of the 70 "maras� of salt.

I sell it for 75 cents. All right, two kilos of caz�n.

The money from the salt pays for Isabel's fish.

It's a nice caba�ita. You're very ungrateful!

Five cents.

And the Sea is the only source of life

for the salt packer

and for the fish vendor.

Desideria!

Come and see the fish.

It was so they said

a land of fabulous wealth.

A land where nothing changes,

where the Sun beats more and more fiercely,

where dust burns drier and drier,

where nothing grows.

The Peredas have covered the distance

between La Puntilla and Manicuare.

Manicuare is a row of open houses facing the sea,

with the only cock fighting pit on the Peninsula.

At home, Daria prepares the meal for the salt miners.

With her, is Beltr�n's sister,

Luisa, the potter, the best, so they say.

She knows the ancient secrets of soils and clays,

but has never heard of the wheel.

Here, it is still by hand, by fist,

that the "m�curas" are molded.

And daily life

endlessly repeats its same gestures.

After the salt,

eating in silence,

then... sleep.

What more is there?

Outside, the Sun burns down on the houses,

on the sea...

And on the same coast, but much further away,

at the entrance of El Rinc�n,

"La Sensitiva" also goes to sleep.

In the center of the village,

men and children

come together to finish the tasks of today's abundant catch

forever acknowledging the Sea as their only providence.

Anyway, there is no other choice.

Beneath this Sun, can anyone think of choosing?

From father to son, you are fisherman or salt miner.

And it has always been so.

Anticipating days of scarcity, the foreman has decided

to salt part of the fish.

Isabel returns from her long round.

They all come too soon,

the tears...

the hunger...

Noon.

And more than ever the Sun beats down upon Araya.

And yet, did not God say to men. ;

"I give you every herb bearing seed

"which is upon the face of all the Earth

"and every tree yielding fruit that bears a seed.

"They shall be your sustenance."

Sustenance, when the Sea gives it for it is not always given

rots in the heat.

It must be salted, and fast.

Salt is the only guardian of life in Araya.

The salt of D�maso and Nemesio,

of Beltr�n and Fortunato,

thus complements Adolfo's fishing.

Fish and salt, salt and fish,

in the closed economy of Araya.

The 3 o'clock Sun

has not stopped D�maso and Nemesio

in their long day's work.

Nelita and the children

await their father and brother.

Upon Araya,

the sun, the heat,

the torpor, the silence.

And Nelita brings them

their only coffee of the day, sent by Petra.

All afternoon, D�maso and Nemesio

will prepare the salt cut today

for Benito's delivery tomorrow.

In Manicuare,

the Peredas sleep under the village tree.

And Luisa's "m�curas"

slowly harden under the Sun.

In El Rinc�n,

Isabel, the fish vendor,

has not yet finished.

She must go back to the paths of sun and dust.

Amid the barren landscape,

the small wood of Guaranache, the only one on the Peninsula.

And the trees of Araya,

will they ever bear anything other than dry branches?

Will new trees ever bear

seeds and fruits?

Isabel waited for the fish,

washed it, sold it,

nursed her child.

Now she is chopping wood.

When will all this fatigue, all this effort, come to an end?

And the Fortress presides again over Araya's afternoons,

with its sun soaked stones, salted by the wind,

filled with nostalgia of sea and centuries.

In the village routine,

around Petra, the salt packer, and Benito, the delivery man,

life goes on beneath the brilliant light.

D�maso and Nemesio go on working on the piers,

silently,

within their own shadows.

The Sun sets, to give way to the Wind.

2,000 "maras� of salt and sweat set sail today.

Leave?

Benito thinks about it.

But where to?

In Manicuare,

Fortunato follows the kites' path

to the brackish well

at the entrance of the village.

And the clean, the fresh Wind,

now sweeps over the vast peninsula.

The lovers of Manicuare,

what do they say to each other?

They say...

the simplest words,

the words of all times.

Luisa has not yet finished.

With her neighbors, she has come to bake the "m�curas."

And the dry wood from the ancient trees of Araya,

kindled by the strong breeze,

will complete the work of the Sun.

And in the Wind,

Luisa, the potter,

conducts the fire ritual.

It's 5 o'clock.

Evening falls on El Rinc�n.

Thus pass the days for Angelica, Carmen and the Grandmother.

Isabel is still in the wood,

and all is renewed as it has been for centuries,

without anything having really changed at all.

Carmen�s shells

have torn the nets of "La Sensitiva."

After a day, like so many others,

Adolfo Ortiz will return again tonight

to cast his nets on the high seas.

Because here,

all life,

all sustenance,

comes from the Sea.

Tonight, there will be a fire to cook the corn at Isabel's house.

The heart of the fisherman's wife knows no weariness.

Her arms know no rest.

This is the marine cemetery.

And it's a date for the Grandmother and Carmen.

Here sleep those who have carried so many "maras,"

fished so many fish.

And in this faraway place,

where flowers refuse to bloom,

the seashells and the corals

those flowers of the sea

bloom in their stead.

The Grandmother and Carmen,

Carmen,

who gathered the shells

have come to make an offering

and to maintain the memory of their dead.

Already Ricardo, the foreman,

calls the fishermen of �La Sensitiva."

And the salt marsh

opens up to the night.

At D�maso's house,

the night brings rest at last.

Watching her children sleep,

Petra no longer has her dry salt look.

The Peredas resume their nightly labor.

And back come the burns

and back come the open sores from the salt.

For Adolfo, too, the round starts again.

It's midnight.

The salt marsh is never alone.

And each one will reencounter yesterday's gestures.

Once more, the Peredas leave to cut salt.

And Beltr�n Pereda,

born in Manicuare,

again becomes a salt miner

returning to his night shift.

And suddenly...

in the barren land,

in ancient Araya,

450 years come face to face.

Will the hardships of men disappear?

Could the ancient world change?

Will machines finally replace the arms of Benito,

of Beltr�n and Fortunato,

and build the pyramids?

Are these the last "maras"?

Is this the end of the round of the salt?

And real flowers...

will they bloom here one day

for the ancient dead of Araya?

Translation: Karen Schwartzman, Julianne Burton and Nadja Tennstedt

Subtitling: LVT New York