The Little Men in Red Caps

Over the summer I took an enjoyable trip to Barcelona, Spain. My family and I wanted to see Gaudi's architecture, so we first went to Sagrada Familia. After seeing the unique architecture up close, we walked around the area near Sagrada Familia, encountering many strategically placed tourist shops. I, becoming the “typical tourist,” insisted on entering a few of the many stores because I wanted some souvenir to remember the trip (specifically a folding fan to match the ones at home that I had gotten from other countries.) 

The shop was rather large and full of other tourists, so we each went our own ways. As I was trying to find the folding fans, I came across a section of glass shelves with figurines placed on them.There were skillfully crafted miniature matadors, flamenco dancers, bulls, and famous buildings. My eyes finally reached the bottom shelf, which had many identical figurines of a little man in a red cap, squatted. I then realized that I was actually looking at figurines of a person pooping. The first thing I thought of was to look away. Should I give the tiny red-capped man his privacy? But why else would they be placed on that shelf if they weren’t to be looked at? For a moment, I was in this uncomfortable situation of not knowing where to look and where to go. Realizing that many other people were also in the shop, I thought that it would be too awkward if I stood there examining the figure. With this idea, I decided that I would browse the other nifty things, come back around to glance at the figurines again, and find some explanation for these odd little men.

I still hadn’t been able to find any folding fans, so I walk towards the shelf again and saw that the word “Catalan” was written on the grass upon which the man was squatted. I stepped back a bit to think about anything I knew that would explain this odd figurine. Being careful not to stand there for long, I took another round too find any indications of what this figure represented. 

When I came back around a third time, a salesman greeted me and asked if I was interested in buying one of the figurines. I hesitated. Do you just tell someone that you’re not interested in buying their pooping red-capped person? However, I now realize that wouldn’t resolve why I kept coming back around it. Although I didn’t realize that point at the time, my curiosity led me to respond with “oh, I was just wondering what this has to do with Spain.” He told me that it’s called a “caganer” and is part of a Catalan tradition. He then walked away to tend to another tourist.

Once I returned to the hotel I was staying at, I did a quick Google search to find that the Caganer is a Catalan Christmas Tradition, which has many interpretations. Also, children play a game where they find these these figurines, so next time you’re in a Catalonia, keep an eye out for them. Although I did not end up buying the figurine, I did manage to find a folding fan to add to my collection!

Names (and Welcome!)

I have always found names to be a difficult thing to decide upon. I feel like they have to have some significance or mean something important to me. When I was a child, my stuffed toys never really had names. I would call them whatever I could think of in the moment. But because those were inanimate objects, it didn’t really matter. However, when it came time to name my first pet, a violet budgie parakeet, I didn’t know what to name her. I probably spent three days after bringing her home still trying to come up with a name for her, during which I would address her as “hey you”. Finally after those three days, my cousin asked me if she could name the bird and I, forced into being the kind older cousin, agreed. The name she chose was “Kitty”. When she came to me with her supposedly brilliant idea, I was confused. She chose to name a bird, a cat. After a small quarrel, it was ultimately settled to name my bird Kitty, although I wasn’t very satisfied with this name.

So when it came time to choose a name for my blog, I was stuck. I needed to chose a good name that had some meaning behind it. The reason I named my blog “Would You Be My Friend” has to do with the one of the first times I had talked to my, now, best friend. We were in Science class, which was our last class of the day. Trying to stay awake, I propped my head up using my hand, pushing my nose up. I don’t remember why, but I then turned to my friend and asked “would you be my friend if my nose was like this?” She looked at with this confused and somewhat scared look on her face. We stared at each other for about a minute, as my friend was trying to respond. She then laughed and said “oh Mariam, you’re so awkward.”

I realized that that question was a bit awkward, but then I began to think what really is awkward. Is it awkward to fall down stairs at school? Is it awkward to greet a stranger? Is having a bird named Kitty awkward? (Whenever I inform people of her name, I always receive the response “Kitty?”). I think that awkwardness can be interpreted differently by each individual, or maybe I just have a really bad judgement on what is awkward. Whatever the case may be, according to some, my life is full of awkwardness. So, like this post, my others will also be about “awkward” scenarios or thoughts, either according to another or to myself. 

Enjoy my blog and visit again if you would like to be my friend! (We can still be friends even if you don't visit my blog.)