Spain, Part Five

While our possession of a language does not limit us from ideation beyond the extent of that language, language does certainly provide certain cultural parameters for individuals, a shared pool if you will of often unconscious connections that help define and separate cultures from one another. Often even closely related languages don’t sound alike, and for that matter, occasionally even dialects, which are simply subsets of a language like breeds of dogs are all still dogs, can be incomprehensible to speakers of that same language. Just try listening to a full-on Yorkshireman: if he’s in a movie, you’ll want to turn on the subtitles. The French famously have their official academy that guards their language from non-Gallic invasions, and presumably the gendarmes will pull you in if you start ruminating about “le weekend” or the like, but for the most part, language is a living thing, and no amount of fretting about it can overcome the fact that actual usage trumps orthodoxy. The word momentarily, for instance, means “for a moment.” This is its age-old meaning, the first in the dictionary. But common usage has virtually eliminated this meaning, replacing it with “in a moment.” I will do something momentarily used to mean I would do if for a while, whereas now it means I will do it a short while from now. No amount of grammarian tooth-gritting can stop this tide of redefinition. Hopefully? Lost cause. At this point in time no longer makes one wonder about different kinds of points in other things, like this point in chocolate pudding or this point in lycanthropy, as if all concepts like time can be boiled down to points the way all matter can be boiled down to atoms. Not too long ago—in the last couple of weeks, in fact—the combined speakers of Portuguese languages have, miraculously, dumped the Portuguese language. Brazilian, an offshoot of Portuguese, will henceforth be the official version of the Portuguese language. The Portwegians in Portugal will lose all their accents (there’s one or two on just about every letter, which the Brazilians wisely eliminated, probably because their typewriter ribbons were wearing out too quickly in the jungle), but in return the Iberians will gain two new letters, bringing their alphabet up to 26 characters. Remarkable stuff. Needless to say, there was much gnashing of teeth over this in Portuguese cultural circles. Usage, as it will, apparently trumped orthodoxy, however; to those of us in the cultural analysis business, a price will definitely be paid for this. Whatever cultural conflict may or may not exist between Portugal and Brazil, it is our friends in South America who have emerged victorious.

This is prologue to the fact that Barcelona does not speak the same language as Madrid. The latter speak Spanish, the former speak Catalan. When you’re traveling in the same country, a change of language can be rather disorienting. Just when you get used to ordering a couple of cups of coffee and a sticky bun and receiving from the server a couple of cups of coffee and a sticky bun, all the rules change. Literally, in the case provided, since café con leche becomes café amb lett. The separateness of the Catalans is hard-won, and worth your own private research. It isn’t easy surviving the tendency toward cultural hash, especially in an authoritarian regime. For the casual observer, i.e., the tourist, you might as well have gone to a different country where Spanish is now the second language. The menus are Catalan, the signs are Catalan, the maps are Catalan. But Catalan is a romance language, and in some ways, if you know a little French, more accessible than Spanish. I love the way languages work. Italian piazzas become English plazas become Spanish playas become Catalan placas (with a cedilla under the c, pronounced plah-thas). If language is a function of culture, or culture is a function of language (take your pick), then you know you are in a different culture when you travel from Madrid to Barcelona. The former seems determinedly Spanish, while the latter is determinedly Catalan. The former is obviously a business center that tourists might go to while the latter is a tourist haven with plenty of business. Aggressively so, always pushing World’s Fairs and Expositions and Olympics, all that sort of big-idea thing that builds international recognition and improved infrastructure. At the same time, its core of old city is large and vibrant, and you instantly get a sense from the place that this is the arty part of the country, which is underscored by the collection of artists who have historically gravitated there. It’s jaunty fun as compared to Madrid’s seriousness. It’s a great place to vacation provided you like to eat and drink (which was certainly also true of Madrid) and just generally roam around discovering stuff. And, especially, if you love architecture. Madrid has plenty of interesting architecture, but Barcelona has Gaudi, who is a touchstone of the art form. Madrid has Velasquez, Barcelona has Picasso and Miro. Madrid has a palace, Barcelona has a beach.

I’m glad we started in Madrid, because it was strict and formal and very nice, but it was a pleasure afterward to let go a bit and relax. Barcelona is a let-go-and-relax kind of place. I wouldn’t tell you to put it at the top of your travel list if you’re new to European travel, but do get to it eventually. You’ll like it. No doubt about it.