A Catalan Christmas in February (Part 2): Scatalogical Humor Edition

My Catalan family and me, posing Christmas 2010 with Caga Tio

The world-famous city of Barcelona is many things: cosmopolitan, rich in history and cuisine, full of pick-pockets, and completely fascinating, to name of a few. It's famous for its storied soccer team and nightlife and for the long-standing independence movement that would separate it and the larger region of Catalunya from the rest of Spain. But that is not what I am here to tell you about.

No, I am here to tell you poop jokes.

I've already taken pains to describe some of the things that make Spanish Christmas unique, but there are a few important -- and, in my opinion, quirkily hilarious-- Catalan traditions that I specifically left to discuss separately. Catalans (people who live in Barcelona and the state of Catalunya) speak a separate romance language; have many separate festivals and holidays; and, if you buy into the prevailing wisdom, are generally more serious and buttoned up than other Iberian people.

... or maybe not so buttoned up. There are two Catalan Christmas traditions that are unique when compared to any others I've heard of anywhere in the world. Celebrating two Christmases in a row (2009 and 2010) in Barcelona gave me a healthy appreciation of both. Warning: if you don't appreciate scatalogical humor, read no further. But if you want to know what poop and the manger in Bethlehem have in common, read on. First up:

1) The Caganer

Vulgar? Yes. Hilarious? Yes.

The first thing you need to know is that cagar in Spanish (and, one assumes, Catalan) means "to take a crap," or possibly something more vulgar than that, a word I'll try to use minimally on this, a family publication. Next, recall that the creche, or nativity scene, is an important part of Spanish Christmas, playing the part that Christmas trees do in the United States. Okay: now that you have been armed with that information, I can explain to you that the Caganer is an important and unique figure in the Catalan creche. Traditionally, he is dressed in traditional peasant clothes, wears a floppy hat, smokes a pipe... and is crouching down to take a bowel movement. Yes, right there in the manger, usually in the corner. Sometimes the porcelain even includes some tasteful tendrils of steam rising up from the fresh specimen.

No one knows exactly where this tradition comes from, only that it goes back hundreds of years (the first recorded Caganer dates from the 18th century.) Some historians say it's a fertility thing; most throw up their hands in confusion. What's for sure is that the Caganer remains as essential a part of the Catalan creche as the angels or the wise men. In fact, in recent years manufacturars of creche components have started to vary available Caganer options-- they make pooping wise men, pooping angels, pooping politicians and athletes. In googling around for images to post in this entry I saw Obama caganers, Angela Merkel caganers, Leo Messi caganers, and more. Basically, chances are that if there is a person in the public eye somewhere in the world, he or she has been immortalized in porcelain mid-poop and sits festively in a Catalan businessman's nativity scene on the Costa Brava.


2) Caga Tió

Mr. Poop, himself, ready for action

Time for a pop quiz. Do you still remember what cagar means, from part 1? If so, you probably can guess the direction we're headed here. To get the full effect, you also need to know that tió is old Catalan for "log." Put the two together and you get the Pooping Log (or something a bit more vulgar if you prefer), and it is exactly as absurd as it sounds.  Caga Tió is a jaunty Christmas visitor made out of a log (of varying size) painted with a face, wearing a red floppy hat, and smoking a pipe. He is the Santa Claus of Catalunya.

Now, say it's the first week in December-- time to decorate your Barcelona apartment! You put up some tinsel; arrange your creche, complete with pooping angel; and head to the Christmas market to find the perfect Pooping Log. The first step in selecting a proper Caga Tió is to decide on size, shape, and temperament. Is he smiling? Is he smoking? Is he tiny or enormous? Which one do you prefer?

Caga Tiós of all sizes at the Barcelona Christmas market

Now, you place the lucky log in a place of honor in the living room, and twelve days before Christmas, the fun starts. Every night little Catalan children leave snacks for Caga Tió, much as American kids leave cookies for Santa or carrots for his reindeer. The idea is to fatten Caga Tió up before Christmas Eve. In the morning the food is gone, having been dispatched by parental late-night munchies. Take care not to put on weight during this week-and-a-half of illicit snacking!

Finally, on Christmas Eve, all is prepared. As in other parts of Spain, multiple generations of your family gather together to eat a late, multi-course dinner, which usually includes sopa de galets (soup with pasta shells) and carn d'olla (stewed meet with vegetables.) Then, at midnight everyone sits down together in the living room. Trying not to let the children see, you cover the door with a blanket,  place all the presents under a chair behind the blanket, and put Caga Tió in front so all but Mr. Poop himself is hidden from view. (Another common set-up is a stack of gifts covered with a blanket and with Caga Tió as king of the mountain.)

Then the fun starts! The children of the family hit poor Caga Tió, all bloated with 12 days of food, with a stick (we used a wooden spoon) and sing a traditional song. I won't hide how hilarious I find the lyrics, especially in context as sung by angelic-faced children to a lovely tuneful melody.

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

Shit, log!  shit nougat,  hazelnuts and cheese.  If you don't shit well,  I'll hit you with a stick.  Shit, log!

"Caga tió,                        Shit, log,
tió de Nadal,                    log of Christmas!
no caguis arengades,       Don't shit herrings,
que són massa salades    which are too salty.
caga torrons                    Shit nougats,
que són més bons!           which are much better!

When the log can take no more, one of the adults waiting behind the curtain pushes the presents out from their hiding place behind the blanket, making it appear that Caga Tió is pooping presents.  (As one might guess from the lyrics, older traditions had Caga Tió bringing only torrons, or nougat, instead of today's gift haul.) The song is repeated until all the gifts have been opened. The rest of the evening is taken up sitting around the living room singing Christmas songs, drinking coffee or wine, and slowly drifting off to bed. Merry Christmas, indeed!

(If this reminds you of Mr. Hanky the Christmas Poo from "South Park," you aren't the only one. Although I've never ready anything definitive, it seems impossible that the beloved/hated character would have absolutely no connection here.)

*Due to a translation error, this post has been updated throughout

Merry Christmas in February from Wide Eyes Wider World!

A Spanish Christmas in January (part 1)

Plaza San Francisco, Linares, all decked out

I've lived in Spain for almost three years, but my experience with Spanish Christmas goes back further than that. Long-time readers of this blog may remember that Spain was my last stop on my trip around the world in 2009, when I spent 10 days over Christmas with my dear friend Toni and his family in Barcelona. The next year I returned for a week in Andalucia (stopping in Sevilla, Malaga, and Cadiz) and a second round of Catalan Christmas with Toni. In 2011, when I moved to Spain, Spanish Christmas already felt like an old friend.

... which is why I was surprised to realize I have never written anything in depth about these traditions, especially when there are so many interesting ones. Since I am anticipating that this year will mark my last Christmas in Spain for awhile, now seems an excellent time to correct this egregious error:

The Christmas season starts more or less officially in Spain during the first week of December, specifically at Candelaria on December 8. Around that time, Christmas lights and other decorations go up throughout the country, from the most elaborate in Madrid to the most simple in tiny Huelva villages. In my five Spanish Christmases, I have concluded that Christmas lights in Spain are of a very specific style. Unlike in the US, where strings of white or multicolored lights and tacky neon reindeer rule, Spanish lights are hung from cables that crisscross streets and boulevards, creating bold, blocky patterns or loop-de-loops that are very distinct from the American-style.

Typical Christmas lights hang on a street in Cadiz

The hanging of lights is often accompanied by installation of a Christmas market in the town square or one of the city plazas. Although Christmas trees are becoming more popular as American and British traditions trickle into Spain, most families still have a carefully-constructed nativity scene in their living rooms to mark the season-- in Andalucia in particular, these can grow to enormous sizes. People devote huge amounts of time and effort to constructing entire tiny Bethlehems, many of which include water features, electric lights, and timed sunrises and sunsets. In Linares, the government sponsored an enormous nativity scene that took up an entire empty store on the shopping street. Given the centrality of the nativity scene, the Christmas markets usually boast a section devoted entirely to selling tiny ceramic wise men, camels, or angels; they also offer decent amount of schlock and, if you're lucky, some respectable arts and crafts. Last year I bought a gorgeous handmade stool crafted from a whole olive-tree stump for 10 euros.

The nativity scene at my school in Talavera de la Reina

    

Traditional Christmastime food differs according to region, but one particular favorite of mine can be found throughout the country: mantecados and polvorónes. Stay with me for a moment here: much like the famous square-rectangle conundrum, polvorónes are mantecados, but not all mantecados are  polvorónes (the difference has to do with the specific recipe.) The nonetheless similar sweets are a sort of crumbly shortbread originally introduced by the Moors (ironic, yes?) Interesting fact: later on, the key ingredient was switched to pork fat, and the Inquisition forced detainees to eat the sweets in order to ferret out secret Muslims and Jews (manteca is pork lard in Spanish.) These days, mantecados and polvorónes are most popular in Andalucia but can be found almost literally everywhere during December. They are extremely delicious and terrible for you.

Christmas sweets. The paper-wrapped sweet on the lower right is a mantecado; the foil wrappers are polvorónes and the others are marzipan and candied fruit from Aragon, two other traditional Christmas treats

Christmas anticipation runs up to December 24, also known as nochebuena (the "good night"). Spanish families all over the country gather to eat Christmas dinner starting around 10:30 or 11 and finishing, in leisurely fashion, after midnight. Except in Catalonia (more on that in the next entry), no gifts are exchanged, but the meal is generally of many courses and includes extended family that has come from all over to eat together. After the last of the flan is finished off, everyone goes out for the night-- nochebuena is known as one of the most raucous "nights out" in the entire year. The bars are filled with people of all ages well into the next morning, when many people like to partake in chocolate con churros. This past year, when I spent Christmas in the white towns of Cadiz, we started our night out at 1 AM. I took a nap around 3:30 and my friend Maria woke me at 4:45, when we left to continue the party at a friend's country house. There, festivities (including Christmas carol singing, listening to Spanish metal, and drinking red wine with Coca-cola) continued until 8:30 AM. Needless to say, I didn't last that long.

The next morning, when the entire village/city has dragged itself out of bed to drink an espresso and attempt to recover... still Christmas is not over. In Spanish, people refer to "navidades" in plural, and my personal theory is that this is because it is refers more to a "Christmas season" than a single day. Besides Christmas Eve and Day the term also refers to New Year's Eve (nochevieja or "old night"-- no one has ever explained to me why it's called that)  and 3 Kings Day.  New Year's Eve is celebrated much the same as its Christmas counterpart, with a multi-course all-family meal that lasts until the wee hours. The major difference is a pause at midnight: as the clock strikes 12, families all over Spain endeavor to eat one grape in tandem with each strike of the cathedral clock-- a challenging task, as the grapes here generally have seeds. I'll let my roommate, Judith, explain to you what an impossible task that is: "Every year I try, and every year I end up like a hamster with my cheeks full of grapes, wishing everyone 'Happy New Year'-- and my parents say, 'Judith, don't talk with your mouth full,'" she explained to me cheerfully earlier this month, as we caught up on our Christmas vacations.

Christmas in the white villages of Cadiz; hot chocolate in the town square of Prado del Rey

  
And yet, even with the grape ordeal in the past, Navidades is not yet complete-- not until January 6 and the arrival of the Reyes Magos (the figures that Americans know as the three Wise Men but whose names are frequently translated here as the "Magic Kings.") Although Santa Claus has made an appearance in Spanish pop culture in recent years, he is not the beloved bringer of presents that he is elsewhere. Spanish children must wait until the morning of January 6 to see what the three Kings of biblical lore (you know, they followed the star to Bethlehem, or something? Don't ask me, I'm a Jew) brought them. The "Dia de Los Reyes Magos,"  full of presents and -- you guessed it-- another multi-generational multi-course meal, is preceded on the evening of January 5 by the "cabalgata de reyes magos," an elaborate procession-cum-parade through the streets announcing the arrival of the Kings. Virtually every community in the country, from the smallest town to the largest metropolis, hosts its own cabalgata, usually featuring Disney characters with oversized heads, some of whom arrive on horseback. The cabalgata in Madrid is largely agreed to be the most impressive, including a great many floats; public opinion generally has it that the quality of other cabalgatas has waned dramatically throughout the country with the onset of the economic crisis. Still, crisis or no, the cabalgata is a must for every under-15 child in town, seeing as every parade includes some frankly intense levels of candy throwing. I know of children who bring umbrellas to turn upside down in order to catch a maximum quantity of sweets. 

From there, I guess you can imagine the rest. Keyed up children, zooming around the house powered by candy overdose; comatose post-sugar crash kids heading sleepily to bed; those same tykes waking at an ungodly hour to see what the Kings have brought (this year they brought me my very own marker/crayon/colored pencil set, complete with pencil case-- there is so much coloring in my future!). And then, once the presents have been opened, the three-course lunch consumed, the last drop of coffee drunk... only then is navidades finished...

... until the next day, when rebajas (enormous city-wide after-Christmas sales) begin, of course.

Christmas lights by the ancient wall in Talavera. I am unsure what special effect I accidentally engaged to make them twinkle like that, but I don't mind. I kind of like it.