Berkley Center

Upon arriving in Spain, it wasn’t uncommon for me to hear an English expression that is fully embraced by the people here: Spain is different. Different from whom or what is never specified, but it soon becomes apparent that the adage still holds regardless.

During my first day in Spain, I made the mistake of assuming it would resemble England, the only other European country I had visited. In the hour or so it took me to realize my error, I settled on thinking I could compare Spain to Latin America. Yet aside from the language and the architecture (and even these can differ greatly), this comparison was also insufficient. In short, Spain is different, and I think these differences stem from Spain’s split personality.

Even the weather reflects this division. Spain is a land of mercurial moods, and any traveler will quickly learn the importance of wearing layers. The thermostat will read 27 degrees when I first leave home in the morning, but it will be 70 degrees only two hours later. This vast shift in temperature depends entirely on exposure to the sun. In its light, the weather is brutally hot, but it suddenly becomes icy cold by merely stepping into a shadow.

To me, this weather pattern seems symbolic of Spain as a whole. There are at least two completely distinct sides to Spain in every situation. Spain does not blend its cultural elements into a happy medium, but rather keeps and embraces them as distinct and separate entities.

For example, Spain comfortably straddles the fence between both liberalism and conservatism. As a country with strong Catholic roots and an emphasis on tradition, the majority of Spaniards value hard work and education. As much as they may value hard work, however, they also cherish relaxation. The two hours that are allotted for lunch are sacred, a time when almost every store closes. Afternoons are set aside for siestas, and Sundays provide a full day of rest as stores close down yet again. I never see Spaniards hurrying in the street; this makes my brisk American pace stand out quite clearly as I’m constantly rushing to be on time.

In general, the Spanish are not flamboyant and often wear clothes with darker color palettes. Among the student population, however, there is a tradition of wearing costumes for holidays. I am frequently surprised on my way to class when I see human-sized penguins exiting a store, or adolescent boys wearing miniskirts and flashing passing cars.

The intersection of politics and religion, however, is where the true paradox of Spanish society arises. The debate over gay marriage is a major point of contention among religious and political groups in the United States. In Spain, however, the fact that such a traditionally Catholic country has embraced gay marriage is telling of the nation’s split personality.

The way the issue of gay marriage is treated in Spain is also revealing: nobody talks about it. I’ve never heard a word about gay marriage unless I’m the one who asks about it; otherwise, the topic is completely off the radar. The silence surrounding its legality points to how ubiquitously accepted it is. Because it’s such a nonissue for them, the Spanish simply don’t feel a need to talk about it.

This is not to say that Spain is no longer Catholic. In fact, the Ash Wednesday service I attended was incredibly somber and packed with congregates, and it even included a procession of 16 people carrying a gigantic crucifix around a cloister. The service itself, however, was rather chaotic, with a mass rush for the Eucharist and tourists snapping photos throughout the entire ceremony.

I think these social paradoxes are at the crux of Spain’s religious identity. Almost every Spaniard I’ve spoken to professes to be Catholic. Yet when I attend Mass on Sunday, the grand cathedrals are only half full and completely devoid of young or middle-aged parishioners.

Some might say that a country of paradoxes is unsustainable. Spain began to appear a little less different, however, when I realized that I also manage to live in the midst of seeming contradictions. I’m not Catholic, but I go to Mass; I am neither Jewish nor Muslim, but I don’t eat pork. Ironically enough, the Spanish people are Catholic but don’t go to Mass; Spain has been heavily influenced by Judaic and Islamic cultures but eats pork in almost every dish. Thus, in light of my experience, Spain’s divided character seems to form a more cohesive whole. Spain may be different, but it’s a country that nonetheless manages to embrace its apparent contradictions.