Smiles, it seems are a cultural thing. The Spanish do not indulge in the habit where strangers are concerned. Brits and Aussies bestow them fairly liberally, I suppose it’s a mixture of politeness and signalling non-aggressive intent. My smiles are automatic, but were rarely returned in Spain.
From an outsider’s perspective the Spanish are a very private people. In public they are very sotto voce. Even in Madrid the dress code is sober: plain colours, simple lines and sensible shoes. Young and old do not go in for ostentation. My offer of help to a young mother juggling a 2 year-old and luggage was declined. There is an independence of spirit and a conforming public persona.
But contrast that with the Seville Feria, which is a celebration of private parties in public. Suddenly in the explosion of colour and joie de vie we see an inside view and what is revealed is a truly proud people. Proud in the positive sense of the word, mixed with a very liberal serving of dignity and passion. At the Feria there were smiles everywhere, particularly for the camera.
In Hornachuelos a family group were having Sunday lunch on a covered terrace across the other side of the ravine. The voices were amplified by the geography and as we looked across, a woman in flamenco dress swung around a table full of laughter and fun.
The vibrancy and colour speak of a passionate soul. Of a nature that is fiery and explosive. There is no middle ground it seems – no room for the reserved and guarded politeness of the Northern Europeans. A man and a woman sat facing us on the train, talking. Their relationship was probably friends. She said something: only a couple of sentences and his face changed instantly, as suddenly as a summer storm. It was as much as he could do to stop the tears from coming. There was an intensity of feeling almost never seen in public in the northern cultures. The abruptness of the movement from one state to the other was almost astonishing. It was not that his friend had upset him, more, that she had given him some unexpected news. She talked him around, but his struggle to control his passion was completely visible on his face.
In the small geographical footprint that is Europe, there is an immense diversity. Just think of the Italians. As a child I visited Italy a number of times and it seems to me that for them there is not much difference between public and private. Italian life is out there for all to see, in the arguments between scooters and taxis, in the loud voices and laughter around a café table, or the flirtations at the evening promenade.
Contrary to the modesty of the Spanish public persona, where signs of physical affection such as holding hands and kissing are rare. I remember sitting opposite a couple on the underground (metro) in Berlin and thinking that I was about to witness an orgasm. The Germans, to my mind are the opposite to the Spanish. Their private life is richtig and it is in their public lives that they let go. Berlin has to be the graffiti capital of the world – if it isn’t moving draw on it, and if it does move, like a train, then all the better. Nakedness and nudism does not even turn a head and was used in the old East almost as a form of civil protest. Theatre and dress in Germany (Berlin in particular) is as out there as you are going to find anywhere in the world.
Each nationality has its own cultural norms but I had never considered smiling to be one of them.
Salatheel 