EVER SINCE THE SOCIALISTS came back to power, the Spanish government has been monkeying around with some venerable traditions–not only the institution of marriage but also the definition of “person.” Last month, Prime Minister José Luis Rodríguez Zapatero’s Socialist Workers’ party introduced a bill that would create “simian rights.”
It seems that the apes have a genetic makeup so similar to ours that, at least in the eyes of their champions, they deserve some of the same legal protections humans have. The hidebound would probably tell these simian sympathizers to go take a siesta, but now even that noble concession to midday lethargy is under siege.
Zapatero’s government actually mandated in January that government employees–accustomed to a three-hour lunch and nap break–be restricted to 45 minutes to grab a bite. Opponents of the midday extended break expect the private sector to follow suit. This is radical.
As a convert to the siesta, I feel the loss acutely. There was a time when, like many outsiders, I regarded the prolonged afternoon break as an expression of Latin sloth. Didn’t it lead the Spaniards to serve dinner at a preposterous 9 or 10 at night? The typical siesta might be a simple 20-minute nap, but some notorious loafers have abused the privilege. Don Quixote’s sidekick Sancho Panza was accustomed to “four or five hours a day” of napping in the summer’s heat. Clearly not a recipe for success.
Then a few years ago I had a sojourn in Spain.
I remember the precise time and place of my conversion. I stopped for lunch at a sparsely populated, family-run café in Gerona, a medieval town in the exurbs of Barcelona. The deal was sweet: seven euros for a four course meal with paella–and a full bottle of wine. Naturally, I feasted, and then I retired to my hostel and experienced the perfect satisfaction of the siesta. I extended my stay in Gerona three days and faithfully patronized that single cafe.
That’s when I started to appreciate all the beauties of this civilized custom. Children went home from school for lunch, and so did their fathers. Families escaped the heat of midday for a leisurely meal together and a time of repose.
Now, the world is a harsher place. Thanks to the Socialists, father and mother have disappeared from Spanish birth certificates, in favor of “Progenitor A” and “Progenitor B.” And when it comes to work schedules, economics rules. The statisticians find that the three-hour lunch doesn’t maximize productivity. Spain desires to prosper, so the siesta is fading.
In the larger cities, the practice has been falling out of favor for some time. Longer commutes and commerce with nations on a 9-5 schedule make it increasingly difficult for city-dwellers to make it home to the suburbs for lunch.
And the left is leading the charge. I find this confusing. Strip the workers of the world of their siesta? Since when do union types campaign for fewer and shorter breaks? As it turns out, the higher-ups in the government’s employ still take their siestas, while depriving the average José of his nap. In Barcelona, while underlings labor, stressed-out execs frequent “siesta shops,” where a few euros will buy them a massage to lull them to sleep and the use of a bed for 20 minutes.
Surely this is not equitable. Sleep, after all, is supposed to be a great equalizer. When a Spaniard is dozing in the afternoon, he doesn’t know whether he’s rich or poor, a human or a monkey. Sleep is the true Rawlsian veil of ignorance; as the poet wrote, it is “the certain knot of peace, / the baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, / the poor man’s wealth, the prisoner’s release.”
The siesta is not for every culture–it wouldn’t fit in America (though U.S. News, where I once interned, had a siesta room marked with a sign that said “Snooze You Can Use”). And one probably shouldn’t look upon other countries as cultural museums, where nothing can change so that we tourists can experience their curiosities.
But when the country that has long fostered an appreciation of family, food, and the good life abandons naptime, then the lethargic the world over lose their model and guide. All old certainties are in question. In the new day, even the monkeys, I suppose, will be forced to get down to work.
– Joseph Lindsley
