A PASSIONATE DEDICATION TO THE GOOD LIFE
Testimonials and Observations by the Experts
“For better or for worse, Spaniards have never been as competitive in business or attached to money for its own sake the way, say, a Dutchman or Dane is. The Spanish have more than a little of Don Quixote in their collective psyche and love fighting for myths and ideals, whether Christianity, the Empire, a Workers’ Paradise, or a National Crusade. But to live and die for pure materialism? Never!”
Mark Williams, from The Story of Spain
“Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy. Not at all an unsuitable motto for a nation which, according to a government survey conducted in the winter of 1989-90, had 138,200 bars — only slightly fewer than in the whole of the rest of the European Union. No other people I have ever encountered put as much effort as the Spanish into having a good time. Whatever its political and economic problems, their country is an immensely entertaining place. After Spain’s 1992 extravaganza (Expo 92 in Seville, Madrid’s year as EC Capital of Culture and the Barcelona Olympic Games), the tourist authorities started an advertising campaign intended to capitalize on it with the slogan, ‘Spain — passion for life.’ It is not one with which I would quibble. Today’s Spaniards do have a passion for life that matches their traditional fascination with death. Indeed, the two are almost certainly linked — thinking so much about death gives them a heightened appreciation of life.”
John Hooper, from The New Spaniards
“The Spanish people are proud and straightforward. They own one car, one TV, and look down on status symbols and social climbers. People work to live, not vice versa. Their focus is on their friends and family. In fact, the siesta is not so much naptime as it is the opportunity for everyone to shut down their harried public life and enjoy good food and the comfort of loved ones. Nighttime is for socializing, whether it’s cruising the streets or watching the soccer game on TV in a crowded bar.”
“Spaniards eat to live, not vice versa.”
Rick Steves, from Rick Steve’s Spain 2005
“Andalucia has been the source of the many images of Spanish culture – bullfighting, flamenco, white-washed villages, sherry bodegas, sandy beaches, and the blazing sun. Beyond these obvious attractions lie Spain’s most vivacious and warm-hearted residents. Despite (or perhaps because of) the poverty and high unemployment in their homeland, Andalucians have always maintained a passionate, unshakable dedication to living the good life. The festivales, ferias, and the carnavales of Andalucia are world-famous for their extravagance.”
Somebody from Let’s Go Spain & Portugal
“Spain has the longest life expectancy and the lowest incidence of heart disease in Europe. The Mediterranean diet is, no doubt, very important, as are walking and a glass or two of red wine. But I’ve got to believe that meeting life’s daily irritations with patience and toleration, rather than impatience and resentment, is a contributing factor. I also believe that daily café time followed by siesta are also life-enhancing activities, but that has yet to be scientifically validated.”
Boyce Quinn, from The Spanish Blogs
A NIGHT AT THE OPERA
And Not a Marx Brother in Sight
This is not about opera. It is about a very unusual thing that happened while we were at the opera. Kay and I are not what you would call opera buffs. We enjoy it but could not afford to go in San Francisco. In Granada, we can afford it, as the best seats cost only €23, less than $30. Granada does not have an opera company. Few cities in Spain do. So around every six months a traveling opera company comes through for a two-night stand at Theatro Isabel Catolicos. The usual offering is a popular opera. Last year we saw Carmen.
This year we chose The Barber of Seville over Aida. How can you go wrong with The Barber of Seville? Every name in the program was Russian (or Slav) save one. The tenor’s name was Martín, surely Spanish.
As usual, the show began at nine, and as last year, the intermissions were long, 30 minutes. As 12:30 approached,the singers were still singing with gusto. It was past our bedtime and we were getting sleepy. Fortunately, we didn’t bolt before the curtain calls.
The audience applauded happily but without great enthusisam. The show had been well produced and the singers good, though one of the basses was a bit weak and the orchestra only adequate. The curtain was down and applause was beginning to die when the curtain went up for the ritual curtain calls. The chorus of 30 or so men lined the stage, and then the principles, one by one in reverse order of importance, came out. Then all the principles stepped together to the front of the stage, etc., etc.
At one point, Figaro uged the tenor, Martín, to the front alone. He removed his huge hat and made a speech in Spanish. Kay and I assumed he must be from Granada or nearby. Everyone applauded. Then the orchestra began and he sang “Granada,” which is a very operatic song. It was a fully rehearshed arrangement, more than likely just for this one night. At one point, the entire chorus joined in, while the cast stood grinning from ear to ear. Martín sang it well and with emotion. It really was very exciting.
At the conclusion, the audience went beserk. They cheered and stomped and shouted olé and bravo. The applause and shouting went on and on. We were clapping and bravo-ing along with everyone else. We were also wide awake.
We left the theater about 12:40. The theater is located in a pedestrian zone and the surrounding streets are filled with cafe’s. Not one chair was emtpy. As we walked home (the last bus is around 11:30), we shuffled through crowded streets. Granted, it was a three-day, holiday weekend and the weather was gorgeous, but this was amazing. It was almost one o’clock in the morning and the sidwalks were so filled that at times we had to stop. Pedestrian traffic began to thin a bit as we walked along the river. Then we turned the corner and began the climb up hill. Suddenly the street was almost deserted. We passed six cafe-bars on our way home. Not one was open.
It was as if we’d turned the corner and stepping into another city. No wonder residents of the Albaicín speak of going down the hill as “going down to Granada.” The Albaicín is a village within a city. I guess that’s makes us happy villagers. Or perhaps the village people.
