Party like a Spaniard
Roots and shoots of an idler at large.
Spaniards partying.
This is my submission for the Soaring Twenties Social Club Symposium. We are a group of idlers who share ideas and companionship. Each month, STSC members create something around a theme, this month's theme being “Habit.” I hope you enjoy it.
Today’s letter is a bit different since I will include a lot of graphical documentation to illustrate the point I am trying to make. Also, I am writing this to the ‘79ers of Almussafes, who, at the tender age of 45, still party as I have seen nowhere else.
We left off two weeks ago when I was getting ready to idle for two months straight. Well, it turns out that my idling skills were intact; they just needed a bit of dusting off. After some ten days of waking up gloriously refreshed at 10 am, my energy levels were totally restored, and I was ready to take my idling to the next level. But my efforts to become a woman of leisure have taken me to uncharted waters in my quest to understand my true nature. But let’s start at the beginning.
I was born on a June day in 1979. The first six years of my life were spent in my small hometown, going to the small public school (not so small, since that year countless children were born). Then, at 7, my father got another job far away, and we all moved, and I stopped belonging to my village. Then came the move to the UK; even when we returned from abroad, I attended schools outside my hometown and later university up north. So, in all these uprootings, it was a challenge to make solid attachments. However, I was lucky enough to befriend B already at kindergarten, and her friendship has become my anchoring port in all these comings and goings. I am fully aware this is a true privilege since B is not only one of the best people one can meet but also really fun to hang out with. Yeah, I am aware that at age three, I had already won the lottery.
Now, at forty-five, I have three children and one husband. We’ve lived in Sweden for ten years but never really assimilated. For one, we do not have Swedish friends. It is hard to establish a solid friendship if one does not master the language perfectly enough to make jokes, play with words, and know how to read between the lines to understand if the person in front of you is being sarcastic or dead serious. We have friends we hang out with, but they are expats just like we are, so my children, who were all born in Sweden, are floating in this acultural magma. I sometimes find myself wondering about the impact of that type of upbringing. It doesn’t worry me since I genuinely believe one grows roots not so much in places but rather in people, but I am also conscious they will never be culturally attached to certain things I recognize as the social fabric that sustains me, which pattern I can distinguish wherever I go, no matter how faint it is. This is the blueprint I use in the new places I live so that I can always find myself.
All these thoughts have made me long ponder what that cultural map looks like. What background do I carry around that is so entrenched in my ways that it could very well be a part of my DNA? In short, how Spanish, if at all, am I? This is a question one cannot google, ask around, or look up in history books. This question needs some good old research at multiple levels in order to be answered.
The obvious first step for the Little Miss Efficiency I carry inside was, of course, to interrogate my DNA because nothing says “roots” like figuring out if you are a byproduct of the Hunnic raids in the Western Roman Empire1. So that is what I did. After a brief research online, I figured the best genetic test to determine one’s ancestry was a particular brand that I do not advertise here because it is pointless for the story. Anyway, I got the kit, followed their instructions, and sent my bodily fluids in for analysis.
My results came four weeks later, but before this, I had had time to invent stories of Visigoths, Moores, Jews and Christians coming together to create the perfect mix that would give rise to my lineage. So when I opened the email that would seal my fate, I discovered I am… Spanish.
How thrilling2.
Sure, there is a bit of Basque country and French in there, as well as a hint of Scottish, but the probability range for the latter three actually includes zero. Now, I am far from a statistical expert, but I know enough to understand that if a probability range includes the zero it means that it is highly unlikely that any of my ancestors were playing the bagpipes at any given point in history.
The results of my genetic test. The fun part is that they could even narrow it down to southern Spain. The DNA shows I am more Spanish than the average. Olé!
The second step was to see if I filled the cultural criteria for Spanishness. Now, having lived out and about, I know that the one thing that encapsulates culture swiftly is clichés. I know, I know, clichés can be mean and painfully wrong, but I do not have time to do an anthropological study on Spaniards and their habits, and let’s face it, you would not read it if I wrote it. Plus, I have some more idling to do, so to make it short and sweet I asked ChatGPT: “Hi, can you tell me, in brief, the most well-known clichés about Spaniards?”
And ChatGPT responded:
Sure! Here are some of the most well-known clichés about Spaniards:
Passionate about Flamenco and Bullfighting: Many people associate Spain with flamenco dancing and bullfighting, viewing these as quintessential elements of Spanish culture.
Late Eaters: Spaniards are often thought to eat dinner very late, usually around 9 or 10 PM.
Siesta Lovers: There's a cliché that Spaniards take a daily afternoon nap, or siesta, often between 2 PM and 5 PM.
Fiesta Enthusiasts: Spaniards are known for their love of fiestas and celebrations, with numerous local festivals throughout the year.
Warm and Friendly: Spaniards are often seen as warm, friendly, and sociable people who enjoy spending time with friends and family.
Mediterranean Diet: There’s a stereotype that Spaniards primarily eat a Mediterranean diet rich in olive oil, seafood, and fresh vegetables.
Punctuality is Flexible: There’s a cliché that Spaniards have a relaxed attitude towards punctuality, often arriving late to social gatherings.
Football Fanatics: Spaniards are known for their passion for football (soccer), with famous clubs like FC Barcelona and Real Madrid.
These clichés, while based on some cultural aspects, do not reflect the diversity and complexity of Spanish society.
I scoured through the list and spotted a few Spanish habits I followed to the T, others that I abominate (football? bullfighting? excuse me?). But then I saw the one Spanish cliché I felt a deeply rooted responsibility to find out if it was true or demystify it, especially since I started this whole idling phase—“Fiesta Enthusiasts.”
So, what does it mean to party like a Spaniard? My dear readers, after a field trip and a deep dive into the data, here come the results of my research. And all I can say my little grasshoppers, is that science doesn’t lie.
You party like a Spaniard when your BFF, whom you meet once a year, tells you on Tuesday- “So, there is this party on Saturday3,” and you reply- “We are going, right?”
You party like a Spaniard when you are clearly the odd one out at the start,
but then you sit at the table to have dinner with people you rarely speak with, and they make you feel so comfortable that it seems like you have never left town.
You party like a Spaniard when, two hours into the party (and a couple of gin and tonics), you feel comfortable enough to bomb other people’s selfies.
You party like a Spaniard if you run into your 21-year-old nephew, and he is happy to take a picture with you.
You party like a Spaniard if it’s almost 6 am and the music has ended, but you are still catching up outside the party venue.
You have partied like a Spaniard if the day after the only thing you can possibly manage is as follows.
So, despite the doubts I expressed earlier in this letter, it turns out I am as Spanish as it gets. In short, I might not be a direct descendant of Attila, but I am, literally, the salt of the earth.
And here I leave you for now. Rest assured, I am piling tons of data in my idleness research and will keep you posted. The next stop will possibly be “How to Run like a Lazy Bum” because I have already tried and succeeded. Darn, my little grasshoppers, if you only knew all the efforts I am putting into the art of loafing, you would be proud of me.
Yours in divine (im)perfection,
Ana (an idler at large)
Geneticists have found in diverse studies the migratory patterns of the Huns. Fascinating stuff. You can read all about it here, which also contains links to the scientific papers should you feel compelled to dive into the evidence.
To be read in a tone dripping with sarcasm.
Here I have to clarify that this was no ordinary party. Summer festivities in my town are epic. This one in particular was a “generational dinner” where you have dinner and and then a dance. Every year, people make a t-shirt to show which year they were born in (every year is different, and then there is a competition to see who has the coolest design). I signed up late and didn't get there in time to order a t-shirt; that's why I'm the odd one out in the photo with all the ‘79ers.
But did any of your ancestors play Spanish bagpipes . . . ?
Great piece, thanks!
Hahahaha - love the photos, you look so happy!! Idle on, rock star, idle on!!!