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Mañana mañana: An end to the Spanish siesta?

Mañana mañana: An end to the Spanish siesta?

Mañana mañana: An end to the Spanish siesta?

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Siesta: as I write in my novel Indiscretion, it is ‘that sacred hour of the afternoon when Spaniards retire to the coolness of their rooms, blinds drawn, to escape the stifling heat’. In my Andalucian Nights series, the siesta is part of the culture of the Spain in which I situate my stories.

In Indiscretion, set in the 1950s, Alexandra is a newcomer to Spain, having grown up in England, and she is unaccustomed to the heat:

She was becoming hot and weary. Maybe leaving her hat behind was not such a good idea after all, she thought, as she crossed an unshaded path and walked down the side of one of the apple orchards. She paused just long enough to catch her breath. This was a place to laze and abandon all idea of exercise. The air itself was persuasive, and it took an immeasurable amount of effort not to surrender to its wiles; but the walk was doing her good, clearing her mind of the shadows that often accumulate in the silent darkness of night. Indulging in a short siesta this afternoon would be just the thing to recuperate.

Not only is Alexandra considering a siesta to recover her energy, however; she is endeavouring to assimilate herself with the culture in which she is living. For at this time of the day Andalucía falls quiet: streets are deserted, cafes closed. People recharge, so that they may stay up later: to come together, to drink sangria and wine, to dance the flamenco, perhaps.

Twenty years into the future, Alexandra’s daughter Luz is the heroine of Masquerade. She is well used to the schedule of Spanish days, and allows herself to drift off in the shade after lunch:

Luz sailed to her favourite beach early, long before most bathers were up. The little secret cove, with its fine sand strewn with a multitude of chromatic shells, lay dreaming under a clear and moist blue sky. It was a lovely, isolated spot. She peeled off her outer clothes, under which was her bikini. The sea temperature was fresh as she floated alongside the rocks and there was a certain purity and cleanliness in the air like balm to the spirit. She spent an easy morning turning burnished gold on the white sand, swimming, snorkelling and idly watching the boats as they came and went from Cádiz’s harbour. At midday she unrolled her towel next to a large rock and lunched on the melon and delicious jamónIbérico Carmela had provided. She fell asleep in the shade of the rock, her thoughts hazy and her senses suddenly dulled by tiredness, the ceaseless sound of the sea and the drowsy heat of the afternoon.

The arrangement of the Spanish day to include a siesta in the afternoon creates a rhythm that perfectly suited my stories in Masquerade and Indiscretion. There is a romantic, dreamy quality to the naptime; a chance to drift into fantasy and hidden desire. Then, come the evening, there is so much more fire in the veins for passionate encounters beneath skies blanketed with stars.

As the Roman poet Ovid wrote: ‘There is more refreshment and stimulation in a nap, even of the briefest, than in all the alcohol ever distilled.’ Furthermore:

Sleep, rest of things, O pleasing Deity,

Peace of the soul, which cares dost crucify,

Weary bodies refresh and mollify.

But what of the modern-day Spain? The siesta is far less entrenched in the culture today.

The BBC recently reported on Prime Minister Mariano Rajoy’s proposals to legislate that the working day end at 6pm, which would curtail the traditional two-hour lunch break from 2 until 4. The reasons are economical, to improve productivity and efficiency, and sociological, to improve family life by allowing parents to spend the evenings with their children.

There is a call in Spain to move away the so-called ‘late-hours culture’ (prime time television is currently between the hours of ten and midnight) and to adopt a rhythm of life more in keeping with European countries like the UK.

But others in the country are concerned about the effect of such changes on the culture of Spain. Will shifting away from the siesta change the mood in Spain? Will there be less opportunity to unwind, and therefore heightened stress levels as the time ticks by? Will there be less interest in socialising in the evening? Perhaps, even, less passion?

Certainly, my heroines Alexandra and Luz would have lived differently had there been no culture of siesta in their times.

What do you think of the end of the siesta? I would love to hear your thoughts.I will leave you with the wisdom of TheIdlereditor Tom Hodgkinson: ‘I count it as a certainty that in paradise, everyone naps.’

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TREKnRay
TREKnRay
7 years ago

I love the Spanish Siesta and late nights. I hardly ever went out after dark in Rota until one day I had to attend a going away party for the Medical Services Officer I relieved on the SS PFC Eugene A. Obregon. The seemingly buildings that in the daytime that I normally passed walking from Base Naval Rota were all lit up, Bodegas, bars, etc. on that street only opened late at night. As the base is mixed Spanish and American many places were open in the daytime, but hot spots were only open late. I spent New Years at… Read more »

TREKnRay
TREKnRay
7 years ago

After I left my previous comment I purchased a Kindle copy of Burning Embers.

hannahfielding
hannahfielding
7 years ago

Wonderful – thank you! I quite agree with your comments on the late night culture; it’s quintessentially Spanish.