On the way home today I faced the old New York dilemma...
When you hear people speaking Dutch on the metro do you correct their tranquil certainty that no one can understand them?
The answer is no. No, I do not. On my way home this evening on a crowded train I found myself listening to two Dutch businessmen who got off at Callao. (I was guessing they would get off at Gran Vía, and I was only one stop off, though then I thought maybe Opera.) I think they had lived in Madrid for a while, as one of them mentioned his (presumably Spanish?) girlfriend taking Dutch classes just off the Gran Vía. They were talking mostly about work I think (saying that someone was not very zelf-standige (self-motivated, or independent) and needed a lot of supervision but that it wasn't a situation that was going to go on for years and years so it was fine), and then reminiscing about getting drunk in Malasaña when they were young when we passed Chueca. (The Chueca metro stop is painted in rainbows to celebrate gay pride, because it's a historically gay neighborhood. They thought this was cute and probably nice for young gay people who arrived there and knew where to get off the train.)
 |
| The Chueca stop. With rainbows. |
Normally at home I feel it's a bit rude to not let people know when I can understand them (even if their conversation isn't deeply private and personal), and I probably would have made eye contact and smiled and given them some hint, but I had just had the metro stairs blocked (and therefore almost missed the train) by a trio of women speaking English to whom I took an instant dislike (because FFS, when it's nearly dinner time and people are trying to get home do NOT walk three abreast on a subway stair, and then turn to look behind you, notice someone is there and too polite to push past, and then resume your conversation and your stair blocking amble). One was a Spaniard, one an American, and one didn't speak. Given my instant antipathy, I had my local monolingual poker face firmly in place so I wouldn't be claimed as a compatriot by the obnoxious one, and it seemed a shame to waste it, especially since most Dutch speakers take me for Spanish anyway (though I think my sneakers are a dead giveaway here).
I should say that I wasn't merely being perverse about clandestine eavesdropping. I was trying to see whether I could try to listen to the two Dutch guys while simultaneously processing the other conversations around me. I pick up conversations in Spanish on the metro almost as easily as I do in English now, but only if I'm not making an effort to listen in another language. I can process English automatically even if I have the mental dial tuned to Spanish (or even Dutch or French where I'm not fluent), but I can't quite process Spanish automatically if I'm listening to Dutch. But if I had more practice I would be able to get there.
All of this is a long way of saying: why would anyone wear headphones on public transit ever? It's so much more interesting to listen to your fellow riders and speculate. Also, if you've ever wondered about whether the New Yorker across the way from you was listening to your conversation on the subway: Yes. Yes, they were. And they're not ashamed.
Dutch is still a little unusual in Madrid though, especially outside the real tourist areas. I had a conversation with a Spaniard who has lived abroad extensively recently about avoiding one's countrymen when in a foreign country. He said that it was frustrating after a month in New York when you started "feeling more or less like a local" to all of a sudden hear unmistakably Castilian voices because it made you feel like you hadn't managed to get away from home. (He also said Spaniards in Latin America behave in ways they wouldn't at home, but that's another story.) I said that I avoided the city center to avoid tourists (many Americans but also others). The sense that the city center is getting overrun is not merely my perception, since I understand from the newspapers that in 2017 Spain passed the US to become the world's second-most-visited country, after France. They are pleased about this from an economic standpoint, but it does contribute to the housing crisis, and doesn't create very desirable jobs, so even in my neighborhood spray painted across the wall of the private gym above the Vista Alegre Hipercor is the angry graffiti "TOURIST - GO HOME."
I said that I enjoyed being one of the few Americans in Carabanchel, and my Spanish friend laughed and said he was sure I was alone there. It's true I haven't met other Americans here, but I'm not so sure I'm the only one. For one thing, this neighborhood is full of foreigners, so Americans can blend right in, since we don't have a single look or native language anyway. For another, you can't be the empire of the moment without a cheerful belief that you have an absolute right to be wherever you are. And Carabanchel is good value for money, and has lots of stores with "productos latinos" which lots of gringos have gotten used to having. It probably says something strange about globalization that one of the few things I have really missed here in Madrid is coconut water which in the US is generally imported from Thailand. At least, I really missed it until this past Monday, when I found out that not one but two fruterías right by my yoga studio stock the familiar Goya brand of coconut water "con pulpo" (with little bits of coconut in it, and also, alas, added sugar). So now I have my coconut water after yoga on my way to the subway. Small luxuries of a too-small world. Anyway, some of us need our Goya products and corn meal, and similar, and it wouldn't surprise me if somewhere not too far away there's a couple of other US passport holders hiding out in San Isidro, congratulating themselves on getting away from other Americans, and keeping strict poker faces when they hear English on the metro.
I should say that I wasn't merely being perverse about clandestine eavesdropping. I was trying to see whether I could try to listen to the two Dutch guys while simultaneously processing the other conversations around me. I pick up conversations in Spanish on the metro almost as easily as I do in English now, but only if I'm not making an effort to listen in another language. I can process English automatically even if I have the mental dial tuned to Spanish (or even Dutch or French where I'm not fluent), but I can't quite process Spanish automatically if I'm listening to Dutch. But if I had more practice I would be able to get there.
All of this is a long way of saying: why would anyone wear headphones on public transit ever? It's so much more interesting to listen to your fellow riders and speculate. Also, if you've ever wondered about whether the New Yorker across the way from you was listening to your conversation on the subway: Yes. Yes, they were. And they're not ashamed.
Dutch is still a little unusual in Madrid though, especially outside the real tourist areas. I had a conversation with a Spaniard who has lived abroad extensively recently about avoiding one's countrymen when in a foreign country. He said that it was frustrating after a month in New York when you started "feeling more or less like a local" to all of a sudden hear unmistakably Castilian voices because it made you feel like you hadn't managed to get away from home. (He also said Spaniards in Latin America behave in ways they wouldn't at home, but that's another story.) I said that I avoided the city center to avoid tourists (many Americans but also others). The sense that the city center is getting overrun is not merely my perception, since I understand from the newspapers that in 2017 Spain passed the US to become the world's second-most-visited country, after France. They are pleased about this from an economic standpoint, but it does contribute to the housing crisis, and doesn't create very desirable jobs, so even in my neighborhood spray painted across the wall of the private gym above the Vista Alegre Hipercor is the angry graffiti "TOURIST - GO HOME."
I said that I enjoyed being one of the few Americans in Carabanchel, and my Spanish friend laughed and said he was sure I was alone there. It's true I haven't met other Americans here, but I'm not so sure I'm the only one. For one thing, this neighborhood is full of foreigners, so Americans can blend right in, since we don't have a single look or native language anyway. For another, you can't be the empire of the moment without a cheerful belief that you have an absolute right to be wherever you are. And Carabanchel is good value for money, and has lots of stores with "productos latinos" which lots of gringos have gotten used to having. It probably says something strange about globalization that one of the few things I have really missed here in Madrid is coconut water which in the US is generally imported from Thailand. At least, I really missed it until this past Monday, when I found out that not one but two fruterías right by my yoga studio stock the familiar Goya brand of coconut water "con pulpo" (with little bits of coconut in it, and also, alas, added sugar). So now I have my coconut water after yoga on my way to the subway. Small luxuries of a too-small world. Anyway, some of us need our Goya products and corn meal, and similar, and it wouldn't surprise me if somewhere not too far away there's a couple of other US passport holders hiding out in San Isidro, congratulating themselves on getting away from other Americans, and keeping strict poker faces when they hear English on the metro.
No comments:
Post a Comment