Forget learning the language, boning up on local
history and getting to grips with neighbourhood customs, if there is one way to
fit in as a foreigner in Barcelona, it is to have a baby.
Such, at least, has been my experience in the eight months since my daughter was born and even before, when my girlfriend was noticeably pregnant. Suddenly people know my name in the shops and I’m on speaking terms with the postman.
I am under no illusions that such attention has anything to do with me. And why should it: my daughter is cuter than I’ll ever be, will speak better Catalan and Spanish and could one day help the Spanish (or Catalan) synchronised swimming team to Olympic glory, something I could never do even if I did have an ounce of the requisite grace.
This affection typically shows up on the streets of the city, where complete unknowns will smile, talk to, touch and even ask to hold my baby daughter.
At first I found this attention – and the accompanying advice – somewhat overwhelming. In Britain, where the media has driven fear of child abuse to levels utterly out of proportion to the actual threat, asking to hold a stranger’s baby is seen as odd, possibly threatening, behaviour. What’s more, the British are more reserved than the Catalans and tend to keep their emotions well hidden, even when faced with a rubber faced, grinning baby.
Over time, though, I’ve grown to appreciate this attention, which seems driven by genuine, unrestrained affection. Babies are permitted – even encouraged – in bars, restaurants and public transport in Barcelona; in Britain they are sometimes seen as invading a public, adult space.
I’m not suggesting for a second that people don’t like babies in Britain. They do, with full hearts. Nevertheless, I have seen a marked difference in attitudes between the two countries and I wonder whether it has to do with the plunging birth rates in Spain.
Recession ravaged Spain has apparently been in the fertility “danger zone” for years, with an average of 1.32 children per woman in 2012, way below the 2.1 rate that is required to keep population stable. Meanwhile, the UK has seen an unexpected baby boom, with 688,120 babies born in England in 2011, the highest number since 1971. Spain needs babies, in other words, and should be happy to see them.
As I wander down the Barcelona streets with my baby, though, it is not just the local well wishers I have in mind. How, I wonder, will my Catalan / Spanish / Scottish / British grow up?
Will she be a dyed-in-the-wool Catalan, like her mother’s family, favouring Lluis Llach over The Beatles and permanently annoyed by my dodgy grasp of the imperfect subjunctive? Or will she be moved by my own Scottish roots into a love of The Jesus and Mary Chain and fried food? Will Catalonia be part of Spain when she hits her 20th birthday? Will Scotland be part of the UK? And will the UK be part of Europe?
I don’t know the answers and I’m guessing my daughter doesn’t either. And yet for all the uncertainty and the difficult years ahead, I feel a kind of hope during my early-morning rambles. Maybe it’s just the lack of sleep. Or maybe I’m delusional. And yet when total strangers show such love to your baby, it is hard to feel differently.