OVERSEAS BRIEFING

Author: ARIELLE WEISMAN

SPAIN - "Viejos verdes" is the Spanish way of saying dirty old men, of which there are many here in Spain. I have always marveled at the abundance of elderly people out and about on the city streets. You just don't see quite as many of them on the T in Boston or in university classes, (yes, they have even infiltrated my classes)! I initially assumed this difference had something to do with the fact that most Spanish families care for their grandparents at home rather than ship them off to nursing homes, as we tend to do in America. However, in my course on the social structure of Spain, I learned that their presence is because of the disproportionate ratio of youths to the elderly population. Spain has the lowest birthrate in the world, averaging, in many areas, less than one child per family. (I really pity that poor 7/9ths of a child born to some unlucky Galician family...) Spain also has one of the lowest mortality rates. This means that fewer people are being born and those that are born are living longer, now that they no longer have to endure civil warfare, hunger and dictatorships like their grandparents did. While in most countries the majority of the population is comprised of young people, Spain is teeming with old folk.

Now all of this would be fine if it weren't for the viejos verdes. They are virtually everywhere. On the street corners calling out (very creative) pick-up lines to you, next to you on the metro, breathing down your neck in line at the supermarket. Hardly a day goes by without an encounter with at least one of them, and - if you are very unlucky - three or four. For the most part they are harmless ( and even if they were harmful, I'm pretty sure I can outrun a feeble 80-year-old man who walks with a cane and has smoked two packs a day for his entire life). It doesn't seem to bother my female Spanish friends at all, but I find it obnoxious. When they cross a certain line, I have a hard time just turning my head and ignoring their hollering. Or groping (that's the worst!). Or the awful kissing noises that disgusting old guy kept making at me all the way home on the bus last week. We were the only people left on the bus that night and, sadly, my iPod had run out of batteries. I heard a sucking noise from behind me. I turned my head slightly and noticed the elderly man. I figured he was probably rearranging his dentures. But no. He was making kissing noises. At me! I had to put up with him for 20 minutes. At the end of the line, I made a run for it and, luckily, escaped without further torment. I always have to ask myself: What would their wives do if they knew? And what, oh what, ever happened to the sweet, innocent grandparents I used to know?