Set phrases: the difference between Spanish and Catalan speakers

A language is far more than a code for passing on facts, thoughts and so on. Languages are an intrinsic part of our culture, and every one of them has its own turns of phrase and idioms. So here are some reflections on what sets us apart from Spanish speakers. I do not mean them to be taken literally: I want to show you a playful, thought-provoking side of the difference between Catalan and Spanish. I hope you enjoy the comparison.

They say «perro viejo» (old dog) and «mosquita muerta» (dead little fly) where we say gat vell (old cat) and gata maula (sly she-cat). The top prize in the lottery is masculine over there — «el gordo» — and feminine here: la grossa.

Of Saint Joseph's wife, the Spanish stress that she is «Virgen» and we that she is Nostra Senyora, Our Lady. (A small clarification: it is neither «madre de Dios» in Spanish nor mare de Déu in Catalan, since God has no mother, though he does have a son; the correct form would be «the mother of the son of God» — which is why at Montserrat she is called Nostra Senyora de Montserrat.) They pay «impuestos», from «imponer», to impose; we pay contribucions, from contribuir, to contribute.

Shameless Spaniards are shameless through and through, with not a scrap of shame, since they are «sinvergüenzas»; the corresponding Catalans are merely pocavergonyes, people of little shame. As a protective charm, they touch «madera», wood, where we touch ferro, iron.

Over there they celebrate «Navidades» every year, in the plural, while here a single annual Nadal is quite enough — just as one bon dia and one bona nit every twenty-four hours is enough for us, against their many daily «buenos días» and «buenas noches».

In Spain they apparently give everything: «dar besos, abrazos, pena, paseos» — to give kisses, hugs, sorrow, walks — whereas in the Catalan Countries we give rather little, because we have to do it ourselves: fer petons, abraçades, pena, un tomb, to make kisses, hugs, sorrow, a stroll.

There they say «¡oiga!», hear me; here we are finer-grained with escolti!, listen. Hen's eggs that are not white they call «morenos», dark-haired; we call them rossos, blond — two colours normally set against each other when speaking of people's hair.

Of the female genitals, the vulgar word there is «almeja», clam, and here figa, fig: two things as different as a salty, rough, hard, greyish mollusc that is difficult to open, on the one hand, and on the other a sweet, juicy, soft, reddish fruit that is pleasant and easy to the touch.

While they «hablan», speak — and do they speak! — here we enraonem, that is, we put reason to work; without much success, mind you. There, to teach someone something, they «adiestran», from diestra, the right hand; here we ensinistrem, from sinistra, the left.

Beyond today's political labels, one side bases its teaching on the right hand and the other on the left…

A whole conception of the world, then, can be glimpsed behind each word of a language, because language is the expression of a collective behaviour, of a national psychology — different, neither better nor worse than any other. It is not a matter, therefore, of translating alone, but of understanding. That is why everyone who changes language also changes point of view and nation. And since a nation with one state behind it is not the same as one with two on top of it, going through life as a winner is more comfortable than going through it as a loser. Looking at it from the side of those who are not 300 million — and neither are they, whatever they say — the liberating solution to this situation looks to me, more and more, like a question of guts. Collective guts, of course.