Writing in the local paper. Local Issues with a global take. I never translate literally and the editor trims at will to make it fit. Here's my version, then theirs.
I’m starting to hear
voices. Not the scary ones that tell you to do naughty things nor those deep and
ominous tones informing you that you’ve become the new prophet of a new
religion, but familiar ones, in English, as I walk through the streets of the
city. Voices that I’ve heard my entire life around about this time of year. There’s
Frank Sinatra reminding me that Christmas probably won’t be white here and next
is Mariah Carey somewhat ironically rallying against consumerism with her
amazing range all the way from the Plaza Mayor up to Canovas. I walk past a
robot Santa who wishes me ‘Merry Christmas’ in perfect English and I see pictures of his reindeer
in shop windows; it’s definitely navidad. It comes at a time when more and more
voices can be heard blaming immigration for the problems the country faces. Angry
voices claiming that imported customs are destroying the fabric of traditional
Spain and replacing things deeply ingrained in the cultural DNA of the land. I
then hear a song about fish drinking in a river and see images representing the three kings of the orient that had traveled so far in search of a refugee child
born in a manger in far off (and obviously not Spanish) Bethlehem. The mix of the different songs and images reminds me that change and the crossbreeding of traditions is inevitable,
like it or not. Once upon a time Christmas carols in America were solely
religious but as society became more varied, a need arose for songs that
celebrated the season but were not necessarily religious and some great music
was created. Christmas trees started off as pagan symbols and now Cacereños
flock to the Plaza Mayor every weekend to take selfies in front of the metallictree-cone. Adopting and adapting is how I will be spending Christmas, enjoying
some jamon iberico, wine from la ribera del Guadiana, some English cheese with
a drop or three of irish whiskey by the fire while reading a Portuguese author and of
course listening to Frank remind me of the snow that I’m certainly not missing.
