Now that we are confined to the municipality, unable to go out to the mountains to act as urbanites (as "fangas," as it's called), let me say that I have always considered (though full of guilt) that "la castañada" is one of the most boring holidays in Catalan tradition. Anyone with children will understand that you can't compete with Halloween, so fun, so modern, so global.
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The thing about "El tió," for example, seems to me an unbeatable marketing product. It will survive, because it has everything to survive. It's about bullying a defenseless log. You hit it preventively so that it defecates according to your criteria ("don't poop herrings, they are very salty" says the song) and, once it has obeyed, you burn it.
As if that weren't enough, "la castañada" in a city like Barcelona and in the midst of climate change is poorly understood. It's hotter, few people have a fireplace in their apartment, and Barcelona grandmothers (that is, the chestnut sellers) don't wear black scarves on their heads. They are so beautiful that when you observe them at the school gate, you don't know if they are going to pick up their grandchildren or the children from their third marriage. Furthermore, "la castañada" has another handicap. If you get drunk (out of pure boredom) it won't be because of those creative gin and tonics, with cardamom seeds and tomato salad, but because of muscatel. Very sad.
But this weekend, when the only thing we can do is go to the cemetery, because we can't leave the municipality in search of a fireplace, I miss that party I used to laugh at. I miss the burnt, amorphous panellets made at school by the children of the homeowners with a fireplace. I miss complaining about Halloween and I miss scaring (really scaring) the children who dared to come to my door demanding candy.
I think I'm going to buy chestnuts and sweet potatoes and panellets and, okay, muscatel. I'm going to the pastry shop to do the disciplined queue, to leave with that little paper package that brings so much joy. But I think I'll also buy cheese and wine, something that gives the feeling of a party, maybe cold cuts, toast. Yes! I'm going out to the grocery store to admire, one more year, those poorly imitated pumpkins, with eyes and mouth made of black electrical tape, which I will never get used to.