Place and Culture in Spain

I am in my eleventh month in Spain, including my semester of study abroad in Sevilla 3 years ago, and some things continue to impress me about this country. There are plenty of stereotypes of Spain that generally hold true; macho bravado, passionate vocal exchanges, love of futbol, and a distinctly European fashion sense are all generally characteristic of Spanish culture. What gets left out, and what has struck me recently, is the consistent presence of a particular local culture integrated into Spain’s national traditions. This local culture often blends into Spain’s national character, and can be difficult to distinguish from it. Several distinctly local qualities, however, mark this important difference. Food, music, and language are generally held to be the most defining elements of a culture. I would add to this list a pattern of interaction with or knowledge of the surrounding natural environment. Let me explain.

Food -as so many contemporary students, academics, activists, and ordinary eaters are recognizing- tells a lot about a group of people and their culture. Where the food comes from, the agriculture behind it, the systems of cultivation, harvest, and distribution, the processes behind eating… these are forces that drive and ground economic and social organization. It also says a great deal about their views and traditions regarding natural surroundings, ecology, and landscape.

While there are plenty of nationally typical food types and sources, each region of Spain has a particular taste. This taste is defined, generally, by what is locally available: coastal cities and towns specialize in seafood, dairy regions are known for their cheeses, mountainous regions feast on cured ham from free range acorn-fed pigs. Add to this the omnipresent influence of wine and olive oil, both of which are inherently characterized by their origin, and it seems that every typical Spanish food is closely associated with a place (ignoring, for now, the influx and wide availability of processed and packaged food in supermarkets everywhere). In fact, even in a grocery store, every wine, oil, fruit, vegetable, cheese, or egg is labeled with its origin (either with the country, if imported, or with the Spanish province if domestically sourced).

The other side of the food issue (the first being source and production), also important, is how the food is eaten. Anywhere in Spain, the norm is light breakfasts, big lunches followed by generous siestas, and fairly light dinners. In Granada province, where I am currently residing, free small food portions called tapas are served to compliment any drink (beer, wine, even soda) one might order. Other regions serve tapas for a price. Still others do not subscribe to this stereotypical Spanish style of eating.

Concerning music, each region of Spain has a local take on the traditional Spanish styles. Flamenco guitar, rhythm, and singing are endemic to Andalucía, but this famous style influences music elsewhere in Spain (everything from grunge rock to pop to opera). Musical styles that may seem similar to an outside eye are distinct to a Spaniard. In Cadiz, where I recently attended the infamous Carnaval celebration, music groups dress up to sing original musical satires full of local and national references that are often indecipherable to non-locals. In a recent trip to the Canary Islands, I was lucky enough to listen to locals discuss their particular cultural traditions. Their music, as well as their food, is as distinct from the rest of Spain as the islands’ geographical location. While flamenco shows North African influence in its hand-clapped rhythms and twisting vocal power, Canarian music displays the rhythmic dissonance of Berber singing to the tune of a small stringed instrument (similar to Bolivia’s charango) not found elsewhere in Spain.

As for language, one need look no farther than accents. Regions, provinces, and even towns have their own particular vocabulary and pronunciation. Some drop the “S”, others blur consonants, and still others sing their vowels. Each locality recognizes and celebrates its accent, sometimes (as in Motril) self-deprecatingly. Each locality also has a reputation elsewhere in the region or country. The Canaries, for example, blend the sing-song of African languages with the straightforward pronunciation of the Caribbean to produce an accent unique to Spain.

All of this you can read in a guidebook or travel article. Also readily apparent -and very important to Spain in my eyes- is the consistent knowledge and presence of local and regional histories in contemporary economic activities, arts, and education. What reveals itself more slowly through these obvious elements, though it may be the deepest aspect of a local culture, is the connection to place. Maybe I am especially moved by the comparison to the United States, where the vast majority of residents would be unable to name the watershed where they live, the dominant trees of the area, endemic species, traditionally cultivated crops, or even the cardinal directions.

Spain’s local communities, inundated as they are with video games and pop culture, maintain an impressive awareness of their surrounding landscapes, local agricultural traditions, and situation relative to other populations. One of Motril’s local newspapers is titled after the zone’s watershed, the Gaudalfeo. Children can name dozens of crops cultivated in the area, in addition to various landforms along the coast and in the interior, and can describe the location and characteristics of numerous towns and villages in the area. On the tiny island of La Gomera, in the Canaries, the population maintains an awareness of the historical agricultural methods of terraced grain production and palm tree cultivation. They pay tribute to their ancestors’ abilities to maintain their civilization by using the island’s limited resources in a way that preserves its ecological equilibrium and balances the impact of human economic activities.

My point is not to glorify Spanish culture. As with any Western industrialized society, it has plenty of faults and shortcomings to balance the benefits of modernity. And these aforementioned elements of local culture, which I respect and admire, still lack the depth and breadth that I think is necessary for a more sustainable place-based culture. The distancing of livelihoods and cultures from the specific place that they inhabit is an unequivocally negative effect of modern society. Knowledge of place, through music and food and local history, is essential to a healthy culture. Human cultures have always emerged out of a specific environment and circumstance, and when they lose touch with this place or are transplanted they either adapt or perish. We, as Western civilization, can learn these lessons by looking at our collective histories, by observing the world around us, and by thoughtfully considering both the future we face and the future we want.