There are moments when travel expands the mind.
You stand before Michelangelo’s David. You enter Chartres Cathedral. You gaze across the Grand Canyon and contemplate your insignificant place in the universe.
In my case, I was in Girona, Spain, a week ago and discovered an entire store filled with little ceramic men taking dumps.
Naturally, I went in.
Big poopers. Little poopers. Famous poopers. Historical poopers. Rows upon rows of tiny exposed buttocks.
My inner 12-year-old was delighted. My inner 70-year-old was also delighted.
It turns out I had stumbled upon one of Catalonia’s (northeastern Spain) oldest and most beloved Christmas traditions: the caganer (ka-gah-NER), which translates, with admirable directness, as essentially “the pooper.”
And this is where the story becomes considerably stranger.
Meanwhile, Back at the Manger...
The traditional caganer is a Catalan peasant, usually dressed in a white shirt, dark trousers, red sash and the distinctive red cap.
Except the trousers aren’t exactly performing their traditional function. He is squatting. His bare bottom is exposed. And behind him is a little pile of poop.
He belongs in the Nativity scene. Yes. The Nativity scene. Mary. Joseph. Baby Jesus. Shepherds. Wise Men. Angel. Ox. Donkey.
And a guy taking a crap.
This is not some recent joke dreamed up by a novelty manufacturer. Apparently the caganer has been associated with Catalan Nativity scenes since around the late 17th or 18th century. Traditionally he is hidden somewhere in the Nativity scene, often behind something or off in a corner, and children are encouraged to find him.
Essentially: “Look, kids! The miracle!”
“Heh heh. That guy’s pooping.”
“Heh heh.”
There Is, Naturally, a Serious Explanation
Adults eventually have to ruin everything by finding symbolism in it.
One traditional interpretation is that the caganer is fertilizing the earth, thereby representing fertility, renewal and prosperity. Another is that this extremely biological little fellow brings ordinary human reality into the sacred tableau. The Friends of the Caganer (yes, there is an organized collector group) rather beautifully describes him as a humanizing counterpoint to the transcendent Christmas story.
Which I actually love. It is earthy, irreverent and strangely profound.
Also: Poop.
[Sorry. I was getting dangerously mature there.]
And Then Capitalism Discovered the Caganer
Eventually someone had the brilliant realization that if Catalans enjoyed a ceramic peasant taking a dump, perhaps they would also enjoy every recognizable person in human civilization taking a dump.
Thus was born the modern celebrity caganer.
Today the traditional peasant has been joined by athletes, musicians, movie characters, cartoon characters and politicians.
Which brings us back to Girona.
I stood surrounded by this extraordinary pantheon of porcelain poopers and realized that I could not possibly return to Connecticut without one.
So I bought Donald Trump.
This is not a political statement.
I would have been equally delighted by Abraham Lincoln, Queen Elizabeth, Taylor Swift or SpongeBob SquarePants assuming any of them had been available in the required position.
It was simply the irresistible collision of American presidential iconography with an approximately 300-year-old Catalan tradition involving exposed buttocks and a carefully sculpted turd.
And somewhere in my Connecticut home this Christmas, my new caganer will take his place. Not prominently. That would violate tradition. He must be hidden. Perhaps behind a plant. Perhaps under the Christmas tree.
I came to Spain for art, architecture, history and food. I am returning with a tiny man pooping.
Travel really does broaden you.
Still Hopscotching...
I suppose there is a real estate lesson buried somewhere in all this. Location matters. Fertile ground is desirable. And when touring a property, it is always wise to determine exactly what is happening behind the shrubbery.
When I’m not wandering through Spain purchasing culturally significant ceramic defecators, I sell houses in Connecticut, where we generally prefer that all such activity be confined to properly functioning septic systems.
For Connecticut homes, weekend escapes and the occasional piece of useful real estate wisdom, visit ConnecticutWeekendHomes.com and MayhewRealEstateGuide.com.
For Connecticut history, oddities and places worth getting off the highway for, there’s ConnecticutBaedeker.com.
For the radical notion that you might buy the weekend house before the primary residence, visit BuyYourSecondHomeFirst.net.
And for cartoons, because apparently the preceding 1,000 words have not sufficiently demonstrated my maturity, there’s MayhewToons.com.
As for HopscotchingToHell.com...well, you’re already here.
David Mayhew, Realtor®
The Weekend Home Specialist
Now please excuse me. I have to figure out how to get Donald Trump through Customs with his pants down.