Culture clash?

Travelling Pontevedra on the train, we had assigned seats. On the train we found two ladies in our seats. These were seats in a group of four, with a table in the middle. You know the kind of thing. They were four ladies travelling together. On the opposite side of the carriage, four gentlemen sat together, probably the husbands of the four ladies. This was confirmed when a young man got on and challenged one of the gentlemen, who was sitting in HIS seat. After some discussion, offers to swap tickets, explanation that this was more complicated as he was travelling with a friend, and then further offers to swap two tickets, the young man decided to leave it and just sat in the next available empty seat, grumblingly saying that if anyone needed his new seat he would sort it out then. Pretty much what we had decided as well. 

Watching the two groups, the older gentlemen travelling together and the younger men who wanted their assigned seats, we were struck by these examples of two aspects of Spanish culture/character. On the one hand there is the almost anarchical decision to do whatever suits you best: if you want four seats together where you and your friends can chat comfortably, and you find four seats available, then you sit there regardless of what your tickets say. On the other hand there is the desire to conform and obey the rules: if you find someone sitting in your seat you need to challenge them, even if you allow yourself to be persuaded to be courteous and give in to the older generation. 

The dichotomy - anarchist/conformist - pops up all the time. Some people dash across at pedestrian crossings whenever there is a break in the traffic, taking their life in their hands. Others wait patiently for the green man to appear, even if you can see empty road stretching in both directions as far as eye can see. Some push in at queues at every opportunity. Others tap you on the shoulder to remind you that they were there first, hoping to shame you into letting them back in to the place they abandoned to go and get the forgotten item from the other end if the supermarket. 

The four ladies mattered nineteen to the dozen throughout the journey, almost competing with each other for airtime. The gentlemen also talked their way to Pontevedra but they were quieter, more measured and restrained. This is another thing we have noticed many times before. 

 All these are things that make you love this country. 

There are other odds and ends I have noticed which make me smile wryly: 

 - Boxes of hard boiled eggs on sale in the supermarket! Clearly there is no shame in being unable to boil an egg. In fact someone who does not know how to cook is described as being unable to fry a couple of eggs: "no sabe freír un par de huevos". 

 - Jars of "patatas para tortilla", also on sale in the supermarket. Yes, you can buy jars of ready cooked potatoes for your Spanish omelette. As the label tells you, all you need to do is add eggs. Astounding! 

- The train manager walking up and down the length of the train telling us, several times over, that we will be delayed 5 minutes at Redondela because there is a stretch of single track line ahead and the signal is against us. What is the public address system on the train for? Oh, yes, to tell us where we are going, what the next station is and whether or not you can buy refreshments on the train, in Galician, then in Castellano (usually as near identical as makes no difference), and finally in English! 

- Spaniards who celebrate Saint George's Day in a bar that sells all sorts of quite obscure English beers. We went there briefly after lunch today in Pontevedra. Today of course, is Saint George's Day. Good old George is, I discovered, not just the patron saint of England but also of Catalonia and Mallorca, Moscow, the Hungarian police and the Portuguese army. There you go! 

In England some people will be driving around with the cross of Saint George flying from their car. Others will use it as an excuse to get drunk. Meanwhile in Barcelona couples apparently celebrate Saint George's Day by exchanging roses and books. 

Mind you, they will insist on calling him Sant Jordi! 

I suppose you can't have everything.