An early Christmas special

I think I promised in one of my last posts that I wouldn’t talk about Christmas until December. But with one thing and another I ended up discussing my Christmas plans for when I return to the UK, as well as spending the weekend talking about Christmas traditions in Argentina, Belgium, England and the US, it seems like a good topic for this latest post. Also, and perhaps most importantly, the trousers I’m wearing are a festive dark green.

So to summarise briefly:
I’m guessing you’re already familiar with Anglo-Saxon Christmas traditions. It’s more or less the same in Argentina, but with the heat turned up to 35 degrees outside and all the windows wide open while people sweat through the Christmas meal. Strange to imagine Christmas in the summertime, but nothing too surreal.

OK, so in the UK and US children believe in elves and flying reindeer, but I’ve normalised this from a childhood believing in the same. For me, it seems that Belgium take things to another level of crazy, with Sinterklaas arriving from Spain on a steam boat, ready to leave presents in shoes.

This is nothing compared to Catalan Christmas.

On the 8 December, a log is brought into the house, normally wearing a traditional catalan hat and cheerful smile.The log is then fed every day. He is of course wrapped up in a blanket, lest he get cold in the night. Then on Christmas Eve, after the log has spent all December eating, he is beaten with sticks and encouraged to defecate, while children sing around him.

The song they sing is the following:

Shit log,shit turrón, hazelnuts and cottage cheese, if you don’t shit well, I’ll hit you with a stick, shit log!

Caga tió,caga torró, avellanes i mató, si no cagues bé et daré un cop de bastó. caga tió

To the more delicate among you, I apologise for the graphic nature of the translation. It can only be blamed on the graphic nature of the original. Equally, I apologise for the images of violence against logs.

So there you have it, perhaps the strangest tradition I’ve heard of, and one that I fully plan to get behind this year, when the Caga Tió (as the log is known) arrives in my flat in a few weeks time. I can’t wait!

[Just in case you don’t believe me, check out this video of real life Catalan children abusing a harmless log for material gain]

Brings a new meaning to ‘crap presents’. Eh? Eh?

Stereotypes

Stereotypes

As my previous posts on bullfighting, guiris and marmite go to show, I love a good stereotype. As I see it, there is a thin line between pinpointing the culture of a country and generalizing about the habits of its people. In Spain, it’s a two-way thing. Which came first, the restaurants selling overpriced sangria and paella on the Rambla, or the tourists eager to pay for it?

And so it was on Sunday night when I ended up going to a flamenco show. Now, I won’t pretend that I know anything about flamenco. I was lucky enough to see Pepe Habichuela perform live, but I couldn’t tell you much about the art form in general. In fact, I was looking forward to seeing flamenco dancers for the first time, with the added highlight of an acquaintance singing in the show .

Yeah, get me, mingling with the locals.

Not that there were any locals watching. The restaurant was the worst example of a tacky tourist trap. Themed to look like an Andalucian tavern, complete with plastic grapes adorning the walls and a rustic ’well’ in the centre of the room, it was filled with slightly bewildered looking Russian, Japanese and American couples. Everything was an over exaggeration of “typical Spain”, from the golden statue of the Virgin Mary to the terracotta tiles jutting out over the alcoves.  At the entrance was a stall selling castanets and fans- because what self respecting tourist could go home from Spain without them?

Don’t get me wrong, the guitar playing and the singing were excellent. I find it incredible the coordination between dancer, singer and guitarist, not to mention that the friend in question was only on her second night, without ever having practiced with the others.

I suppose my point is this. A desire to see something of an authentic Spain is, in my opinion, admirable, and far better than using the country solely for its beaches and weather. But it can sometimes turn into a vicious circle. Tourists want Spain, and the more “Spanish” their experience the better. So those who sell the spanishest things get the most business, and the whole thing gets warped. The natives mock the tourists dim enough to pay for the products they’re selling, but the visitors themselves don’t know any better.

Anyway.

The main conclusion I have drawn from the whole experience?

I’m going to take up flamenco dancing. ¡Olé!

Me, in the near future.

Man vs. Bull

 

So I thought I might ramble about bullfighting.

I know, I know. I can almost hear the disbelieving groans and cries of “cliché!” from the back of the room. But first let me justify myself. I mean, it’s a theme with a dose of old-fashioned gawping at the misfortune of others, a dash of gore and a cultural-political twist. Still not convinced? Well…recently, this happened to a matador:

Juan José Padilla after being on the wrong end of a horn

 

Ewwww! Got your attention there, right? I don’t want to go into graphic details about what happened to him. Let’s just say that horn met cheek met eye. I’d rather not taint the pages of my blog with the worst photos of the incident, but I’ll leave the link for those of you with strong stomachs.

I can’t help it, but I have a morbid fascination with bullfighting. It’s a cruel activity which I cannot agree with, especially when there are equally entertaining alternatives in which the bull is neither injured nor killed, and which maintain the much vaunted “art” of the tradition. I have extremely limited sympathy for injured matadors. If you put yourself in a ring with an angry bull and poke it with a sword, then what do you expect?

But I just can’t help it. Like the desperate hispanophile I am, I guiltily search for the worst “cornadas” on youtube, google stories of Spain’s deadliest bull and woke up early to watch the Pamplona bull run live on TV.

As I’m now living in Catalonia, this kind of thing has to stop if I truly want to blend in. After voting to ban the sport in the region, any good wannabe catalan has to be proud to live in an area where watching bulls die slowly for fun is illegal. Maybe I am a little proud. But is my fascination with bullfighting likely to die down any time soon? No creo…

Related articles

• Last bullfights in Spain’s Catalonia before ban (sfgate.com)
• End of a Bloody Era: Both Outrage and Celebration Mark Catalonia’s Last Bullfight (newsfeed.time.com)
• Bull Gets Revenge on Bullfighter (futuretwit.com)

Unusual things to do in Barcelona no.1: Parrots and cake

After a Sunday afternoon well spent here in BCN, here’s how you can repeat the experience.

Step 1. Find yourself a companion with an affection for both exotic birds and cake.

Step 2. Take the metro to Jaume I, or find your way in Bicing. From there it should be easy to find yourself in Plaça de l’Angel.

Step 3. It’s time to get some cake. On the corner of the Plaça is one of Barcelona’s most well-known cake, pastry and sweet shops. Stock up.

 

Step 4. Wind your way through the Barri Gotic towards the Plaça Reial. It’s a short walk if you go directly, but I would suggest zigzagging through the side streets for a more interesting route.

Step 5. So you’ve arrived in the Plaça! Take a seat on one of the chairs around the square, or perch on the edge of the fountain in the middle. Look up at the palm trees, and watch the parrots flying in between, while you enjoy a well earned munch of your cake.

But don’t parrots only live in more exotic climes? Not any more. Pet parrots were set free by their owners, who took happily to life on the mediterranean coast and the lack of natural predators. So they multiplied just to add a bit more sparkle to your Barcelona visit, you lucky thing.