Twelve Chances to Get Next Year Right

That's actually a fascinating media story.

A national ritual gets stitched together in real time by a broadcast technology.

It's almost the same thing that happened with the World Cup, or the moon landing.

The medium creates the shared experience.

Totalmente.

Completely.

Y con la televisión el efecto se multiplicó.

And with television the effect multiplied.

A partir de los años sesenta, la imagen del reloj de la Puerta del Sol se convirtió en el símbolo de la Nochevieja española tanto como las uvas mismas.

From the 1960s onward, the image of the Puerta del Sol clock became the symbol of Spanish New Year's Eve as much as the grapes themselves.

Hay generaciones de españoles para quienes ese reloj es, emocionalmente, el centro del universo durante treinta segundos al año.

There are generations of Spaniards for whom that clock is, emotionally, the center of the universe for thirty seconds a year.

I was in Madrid for Nochevieja a few years back, before I knew Octavio, and I happened to walk through the Puerta del Sol area around eleven at night.

I had no idea what I was walking into.

There were people absolutely everywhere, packed shoulder to shoulder, and everyone was carrying these little bags of grapes.

Esas bolsitas son casi un objeto cultural en sí mismas.

Those little bags are almost a cultural object in themselves.

Las venden en todos los supermercados a partir de mediados de diciembre: doce uvas, perfectamente contadas, a veces sin pepitas, a veces peladas.

They sell them in every supermarket from mid-December onward: twelve grapes, perfectly counted, sometimes seedless, sometimes pre-peeled.

El mercado ha convertido el ritual en un producto, para bien o para mal.

The market has turned the ritual into a product, for better or for worse.

Pre-peeled.

I'm going to need you to say more about that, because my instinct is that you have extremely strong feelings about pre-peeled grapes.

Fletcher, las venden envasadas al vacío, en conserva, con almíbar a veces.

Fletcher, they sell them vacuum-packed, preserved, sometimes in syrup.

Almíbar.

Syrup.

En Nochevieja.

On New Year's Eve.

Eso no es una uva, eso es una rendición.

That is not a grape, that is a surrender.

In syrup.

Okay, I take your point.

There is something genuinely different about struggling through a real grape with a seed in it versus eating what is essentially a grape-flavored gummy.

La dificultad no es un defecto de diseño, es parte del ritual.

The difficulty is not a design flaw, it is part of the ritual.

Que sea difícil es el punto.

The fact that it is hard is the point.

Si lo consigues a pesar del caos, del ruido, de la prisa, eso significa algo.

If you manage it despite the chaos, the noise, the rush, that means something.

O al menos así lo sentimos.

Or at least that is how we feel it.

Which actually gets at something deeper.

This isn't just about luck in some vague sense.

I read that each grape is meant to correspond to a specific month of the year coming up.

So you're not just wishing for luck in general, you're sort of forecasting twelve separate little futures.

Sí, esa interpretación existe y es bastante hermosa.

Yes, that interpretation exists and it is quite beautiful.

La primera uva es enero, la segunda febrero, y así sucesivamente.

The first grape is January, the second February, and so on.

Si una uva está amarga o te cuesta tragarla, ese mes viene complicado.

If a grape is bitter or hard to swallow, that month will be difficult.

Si está dulce y la engulles sin problemas, ese mes irá bien.

If it is sweet and you get it down without trouble, that month will go well.

Es adivinación comestible.

It is edible divination.

Edible divination.

That might be the most Spanish phrase I've ever heard.

Llevamos siglos mezclando lo sagrado, lo supersticioso y lo gastronómico.

We have spent centuries mixing the sacred, the superstitious, and the gastronomic.

No es un accidente.

It is not an accident.

Forma parte de cómo procesamos las cosas grandes.

It is part of how we process big things.

Las bodas, los funerales, las victorias, las despedidas.

Weddings, funerals, victories, farewells.

Todo pasa por la mesa.

Everything passes through the table.

You know, I spent time in Buenos Aires in the nineties, and the New Year rituals there were intense in a completely different way.

Loud, outdoor, a lot of fireworks and cumbia.

But the grape thing, I don't remember seeing that.

En Latinoamérica la tradición de las uvas existe, pero de forma muy desigual.

In Latin America the grape tradition exists, but unevenly.

En algunos países como Venezuela o Colombia es bastante conocida, mientras que en Argentina o México no tiene la misma presencia.

In some countries like Venezuela or Colombia it is fairly well known, while in Argentina or Mexico it does not have the same presence.

Lo que sí viajó fue la idea de los doce deseos a medianoche, aunque allí se expresan de otras maneras: con lentejas en el bolsillo, con maletas que se sacan a la calle, con ropa interior amarilla.

What did travel was the idea of twelve wishes at midnight, though there it is expressed in other ways: with lentils in your pocket, with suitcases you drag into the street, with yellow underwear.

Yellow underwear.

For good luck?

Para la prosperidad, sí.

For prosperity, yes.

En varios países latinoamericanos la ropa interior amarilla en Nochevieja atrae el dinero y la fortuna para el año siguiente.

In several Latin American countries yellow underwear on New Year's Eve attracts money and fortune for the following year.

Y la roja para el amor.

And red for love.

No te rías, Fletcher, hay gente muy seria sobre esto.

Do not laugh, Fletcher, there are very serious people about this.

I'm not laughing at the belief, I'm just noting that there are apparently a lot of ways to negotiate with the future at midnight.

Grapes, lentils, yellow underwear.

Humans are remarkably creative when they're anxious about time.

Eso es precisamente lo que hace interesante a la Nochevieja como fenómeno cultural.

That is precisely what makes New Year's Eve interesting as a cultural phenomenon.

No es solo una fiesta, es un umbral.

It is not just a party, it is a threshold.

En muchas culturas el cambio de año activa algo muy antiguo en nosotros, esta necesidad de marcar el paso, de hacer un inventario, de intentar influir en lo que viene.

In many cultures the change of year activates something very ancient in us, this need to mark the passage, to take stock, to try to influence what is coming.

And in Spain that threshold has a very specific address: the Puerta del Sol.

Which, for people who haven't been there, is not just a plaza.

Kilometer zero.

The literal center of the road network of the whole country.

Y eso no es un detalle menor.

And that is not a minor detail.

El hecho de que el ritual nacional se ancle en el kilómetro cero del país tiene una dimensión casi simbólica que va más allá del turismo o de la logística.

The fact that the national ritual is anchored at the country's kilometer zero has an almost symbolic dimension that goes beyond tourism or logistics.

Es como si España dijera: aquí empieza todo, incluyendo el año nuevo.

It is as if Spain were saying: everything starts here, including the new year.

Hay algo poderoso en eso.

There is something powerful in that.

Though I'd push back slightly.

After Franco, after the transition to democracy, that kind of centralized national symbolism must have been complicated for a lot of people.

Catalonia, the Basque Country.

Do they do the twelve grapes?

Sí, con variaciones.

Yes, with variations.

En Cataluña, por ejemplo, muchos siguen las campanadas desde el reloj de su ciudad, no necesariamente desde Madrid, y hay cadenas de televisión locales que emiten sus propias retransmisiones.

In Catalonia, for example, many people follow the chimes from their own city's clock, not necessarily from Madrid, and there are local television channels that broadcast their own coverage.

Pero las uvas están ahí.

But the grapes are there.

La tradición ha conseguido algo curioso: se ha vuelto española sin sentirse impuesta, al menos para la mayoría.

The tradition has achieved something curious: it has become Spanish without feeling imposed, at least for most people.

That's a subtle but real distinction.

A tradition that travels horizontally through a culture rather than being handed down from above tends to feel like it belongs to everyone.

Aunque hay que decir también que la televisión pública española, RTVE, durante décadas fue el único canal, y eso sí fue una imposición en cierto sentido.

Though we should also say that Spanish public television, RTVE, for decades was the only channel, and that was an imposition in a certain sense.

Todo el país vio las mismas campanadas porque no había alternativa.

The whole country watched the same chimes because there was no alternative.

Lo interesante es que, aunque ahora hay cientos de canales, la gente sigue volviendo a ese reloj.

What is interesting is that, even though there are now hundreds of channels, people keep returning to that clock.

Which says something about the grip of ritual.

Once something becomes the thing you do with people you love, the original context almost doesn't matter anymore.

It's the repetition that makes it sacred.

Bien dicho.

Well said.

Y por eso me irrita tanto la versión en almíbar.

And that is precisely why the syrup version irritates me.

No porque sea menos auténtica históricamente, sino porque rompe esa cadena de repetición.

Not because it is less historically authentic, but because it breaks that chain of repetition.

Si tu versión de las uvas no requiere ningún esfuerzo, si viene en un vasito de plástico ya listo para consumir, pierdes algo que no tiene precio: la posibilidad de fallar juntos.

If your version of the grapes requires no effort, if it comes in a little plastic cup ready to consume, you lose something priceless: the possibility of failing together.

The possibility of failing together.

That's a beautiful way to put it.

And honestly, the best New Year's memory I have from Spain is exactly that.

My then-future son-in-law's grandmother dropping three grapes on the floor and just laughing until she cried.

Eso es España en Nochevieja.

That is Spain on New Year's Eve.

La abuela que siempre se atraganta con la quinta uva, el tío que llega tarde y tiene que hacer las campanadas con el microondas en marcha, los niños que se quedan dormidos a las once y media y los tienes que despertar a la fuerza.

The grandmother who always chokes on the fifth grape, the uncle who arrives late and has to do the chimes with the microwave running, the children who fall asleep at half past eleven and you have to wake them by force.

Es teatro, Fletcher.

It is theatre, Fletcher.

Teatro familiar con guion fijo.

Family theatre with a fixed script.

Speaking of scripts, I want to go back to something you said earlier.

You used the phrase 'dar las uvas' and I flagged it because I've heard it before but not in the context of New Year's.

It means something else, doesn't it?

Sí, exactamente.

Yes, exactly.

'Dar las uvas' como expresión coloquial significa tardar una eternidad en hacer algo, demorarse tanto que llegas tarde a todo.

'Dar las uvas' as a colloquial expression means to take forever to do something, to drag things out so much that you are late for everything.

Si alguien te está esperando y tú no apareces, pueden decirte: 'Te van a dar las uvas', o sea, que vas a llegar cuando ya toquen las campanadas de Nochevieja, demasiado tarde para todo.

If someone is waiting for you and you do not show up, they might say: 'Te van a dar las uvas,' meaning you will arrive when the New Year's chimes are already ringing, too late for everything.

So missing the chimes is the Spanish cultural shorthand for arriving too late to matter.

That's a great expression.

And very useful for describing certain people in my life who shall remain nameless.

¿Ciertas personas?

Certain people?

Fletcher, tú llegas tarde a todo.

Fletcher, you are late to everything.

Si alguien va a que le den las uvas, eres tú.

If anyone is going to have the grapes strike on them, it is you.

Aunque hay que reconocer que tu español también va con retraso, y sin embargo aquí seguimos, así que algo de mérito tienes.

Though we must admit your Spanish is also running behind schedule, and yet here we still are, so you deserve some credit.

That is fair.

On both counts.

Alright, one thing I love about 'dar las uvas' is that it only makes sense if everyone in the conversation already carries the weight of those thirty seconds at midnight.

The expression only works because the ritual is real.

Y eso es lo que distingue a una tradición viva de una pieza de museo.

And that is what distinguishes a living tradition from a museum piece.

Cuando una costumbre genera su propio lenguaje, cuando se convierte en metáfora, en chiste, en insulto cariñoso, es porque ha entrado tan adentro de la cultura que ya no hace falta explicarla.

When a custom generates its own language, when it becomes a metaphor, a joke, a affectionate insult, it is because it has gone so deep into the culture that it no longer needs explaining.

Todo el mundo sabe lo que se pierde si llegas tarde a las uvas.

Everyone knows what you lose if you arrive late for the grapes.

And for everyone listening: don't be late for the grapes.

Happy new year, or as it turns out, feliz año nuevo.

And Octavio, don't let me eat the ones in syrup.

Eso nunca.

Never.

Ni aunque me lo pidas de rodillas.

Not even if you beg on your knees.

Feliz año nuevo, Fletcher.

Happy new year, Fletcher.

Y a todos los que nos escuchan, que las doce uvas les salgan bien y que el año que viene llegue con noticias mejores que las del anterior.

And to everyone listening, may your twelve grapes go down smoothly and may the coming year arrive with better news than the last one.

Nos vemos al otro lado.

See you on the other side.