Our apartment here in Barcelona is can be accessed from the ground floor by a elevator or by three flights of stairs. An elevator and stairs, items we are well familiar with, that we see and use all the time in the United States. We know how to use them, obviously, and yet we kind of don’t, here. We don’t know the norms of their use, and the ways in which we use them is surprisingly indicative of the differences between American and Catalan culture. |
Let’s start with our frequent use of these stairs. To us, these three short flight of stairs provide a way to incorporate a little more movement into our daily routine. Isaac enjoys racing up them to see how fast he can go. And it is often the fastest way to get to or from our apartment, especially if the elevator isn’t already waiting on the floor we are on. To our Catalan neighbors however, it seems there is no reason to use the stairs if an elevator is available. None of them use them and our habitual use of the stairs is often greeted with puzzled looks. One day on my way down to the ground floor, I passed an older women waiting on the landing for the elevator. As I began my descent by stairs, she called out, in Spanish, and with a ‘hey, look, stupid’ tone, “There is an elevator!”. “Sí,” I replied, “I know. I like the stairs.”
Occasionally, we do use the elevator, but it seems that there too, we don’t quite do it in the Catalan way. Most often, its Isaac and Felix who use the elevator. Sometimes with an adult, sometimes just the two of them together, sometimes one boy rides the elevator on his own while the other races up the stairs to see if he can beat it. (He usually does.) We’ve never questioned their ability to ride the elevator a few short floors on their own, or the safety of them doing so. A few months ago while American friends were visiting, their daughters decided to ride the elevator down while the adults took the stairs. We reached the ground floor in time to see the girls exit the elevator and run giggling past a woman who had been waiting for it. She turned, looking for the adults responsible for these little, happy humans, and gave us an appalled look. “They can’t ride by themselves!” she scolded me.
And then there are the common courtesies surrounding sharing the elevator with your neighbors. The elevator on the ground floor is within full view of the main entrance into the apartment building, which means a person getting on the elevator can see when someone else is just entering the building. Every time I enter the building as someone else is getting on the elevator, they stop, hold the door, and call out to me to ask if I am going up as well. Every time. Its not that Americans don’t hold elevators for people, we do. But we are not in the habit of watching out for opportunities to do this. Instead, the person who is trying to catch the elevator must yell out “Hold the door!” and hope that the person inside has the disposition to listen to the request, a situation that is not a given. But here, these types of little, daily tokens of kindness are embedded into the culture. The first few times this happened, I turned them down, since I was planning on taking the stairs. But now I always accept. Because maybe I’ll get to practice my Spanish with a neighbor as we share an elevator ride. And because accepting and giving help is part of the culture that I want to fully embrace.
Occasionally, we do use the elevator, but it seems that there too, we don’t quite do it in the Catalan way. Most often, its Isaac and Felix who use the elevator. Sometimes with an adult, sometimes just the two of them together, sometimes one boy rides the elevator on his own while the other races up the stairs to see if he can beat it. (He usually does.) We’ve never questioned their ability to ride the elevator a few short floors on their own, or the safety of them doing so. A few months ago while American friends were visiting, their daughters decided to ride the elevator down while the adults took the stairs. We reached the ground floor in time to see the girls exit the elevator and run giggling past a woman who had been waiting for it. She turned, looking for the adults responsible for these little, happy humans, and gave us an appalled look. “They can’t ride by themselves!” she scolded me.
And then there are the common courtesies surrounding sharing the elevator with your neighbors. The elevator on the ground floor is within full view of the main entrance into the apartment building, which means a person getting on the elevator can see when someone else is just entering the building. Every time I enter the building as someone else is getting on the elevator, they stop, hold the door, and call out to me to ask if I am going up as well. Every time. Its not that Americans don’t hold elevators for people, we do. But we are not in the habit of watching out for opportunities to do this. Instead, the person who is trying to catch the elevator must yell out “Hold the door!” and hope that the person inside has the disposition to listen to the request, a situation that is not a given. But here, these types of little, daily tokens of kindness are embedded into the culture. The first few times this happened, I turned them down, since I was planning on taking the stairs. But now I always accept. Because maybe I’ll get to practice my Spanish with a neighbor as we share an elevator ride. And because accepting and giving help is part of the culture that I want to fully embrace.