Pedro Sánchez has spent 33 days in La Mareta, the luxury residence in Costa Teguise, generating discontent among residents due to the security measures and disruptions.
The President of the Government, Pedro Sánchez, has concluded a stay of 33 days at La Mareta, the official residence located in Costa Teguise, Lanzarote. During this period, the area has become an inaccessible enclave, with patrol boats and security perimeters affecting the daily lives of local residents. The residence, designed by architects Higueras and Manrique, rises over the lava like a marble and luxury bunker.
Security and disruptions on the coast
Presidential security has imposed a static rhythm at the bus stop in the Villa, where residents wait for lines 7, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 52, or 53. Delays due to motorcades have been constant. Juan, a decades-long fisherman, observes from the dock how patrol boats monitor a territory he feels has been expropriated. "Politics is a physical intrusion," he states. His fishing grounds have shrunk, and his routine has been disrupted by the logistics of high politics.
Manuel Rodríguez, a retiree from Las Palmas living in Teguise, bought his house with money earned in Venezuela. "The best thing Sánchez can do is leave La Mareta quietly, as the PSOE has a lot of silent support here," he comments. Although he is a socialist voter, he acknowledges that the stay has caused discomfort among the neighbours.
Silence as a scarce commodity
Sarah, a British resident for twelve years, sorts art catalogues on a terrace. She is concerned that the Canary Islands may implement a rule restricting foreign residency. For her, La Mareta is a control structure wrapped in prestige. "The architecture is magnificent, but it is cold," she says. The presidential stay has caused water outages and real estate inflation, although she perceives it as background noise. Joana Ferrer, a glass artisan, adds: "I concentrate better in silence; if Sánchez comes, it's better he stays there in La Mareta, no sirens or helicopters flying overhead."
Juan Moreno, a wood artisan, has sold crafts to Sánchez at the Haría market. "The security neutralises you beforehand, and although I would like to tell him something about the cost of being self-employed on the island, I expect nothing from La Mareta, just that they don't disturb the people," he points out. He criticises the scandals involving his wife in La Moncloa and the silence pact surrounding visits from European leaders.
Power as an atmospheric force
The asphalt of La Mareta, obsessively clean, denies the volcanic surroundings. Power is an atmospheric force similar to the trade winds: it simply happens. The people of Lanzarote become extras. The waiting time at the bus is an exact measure of the citizen's insignificance before the State. Paco Arbelo, a local technical architect, cynically breaks down the infrastructure: "It is a representation asset. The State can sustain luxury at any latitude." La Mareta exists to reaffirm that power can exclude others, turning the coast into a private object.
Sánchez's stay lasted 33 days, a period that has generated criticism and weariness among the residents. As the patrol boats withdraw, life in Teguise returns to its usual rhythm, although the imprint of power remains present in the memory of its inhabitants.
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