Comments by "" (@titteryenot4524) on "Can Spanish Speakers Understand French? | Easy Spanish 260" video.

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  9.  @alexiveperez4687  Understood. But … Barcelona and its wider metropolitan area is hardly representative here, as it’s an international city with a strong admixture of internationals and non-Catalan Spaniards. I have traveled fairly extensively in the region over the years (Lleida, Vic, Puigcerda, Tarragona, all over really) and what struck me in all these places was the strength of Catalan feeling for, yes, full independence. Most were speaking the language, and most were not wealthy elites, which, as you suggested, was the part of the Catalan society most in favour of independence. For example, I was in Girona about 5 years ago for a few weeks, and everyone, and I mean everyone, was as the default setting, speaking Catalan (to me, Castilian, as a non-Catalan speaker); young, old, wealthy, not so wealthy. I think this is more representative of what’s going on rather than the slightly anomalous city of Barcelona. You didn’t really answer my question though. So, again, tomorrow, Catalonia, the Basque region and Galicia all become independent: what would your feelings be about this? You say you’re not political, and I respect this, but you will have feelings either way, I’m sure. Part of the reason I ask is that over the years I have sensed a strong emotion, almost fear, of the aforementioned regions’ secession from the wider Spanish state, in the rest of Spain. Yes, they grumble and mumble in public about those pesky people in the northern regions talking independence, affecting an air of insouciance, but when it comes down to it, if the Spanish state were to split, as we currently know it, these non-separatist wider Spaniards would almost feel it like the loss of a limb. I don’t just mean the wider economic implications of regional secession and independence but I mean an almost metaphysical sundering of their very being and identity; like losing a brother or sister.
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  24.  @paranoidrodent  You’re dead right about the richness and complexity of language and accents, certainly here in the UK, but also in France, with which I’m slightly less au fait. It almost changes village to village here in Scotland, never mind city to city. I’m fascinated at how, in this era of dominant globalisation, these accents and their differentiating minutiae have managed to survive, indeed, in some cases even strengthen, in the face of a wave of monolingual (English), mono-accented (mid-Atlantic) mainstream global culture that has been wittingly or otherwise, resisted by all those who still speak in a unique, distinct manner. Yeah, ‘Bienvenue …’ is a film I saw about a decade ago, and from hazy memory I recall it being a bit too free and easy with the lazy stereotypes (cultured southerners versus northern boors; it’s always sunny down south versus it’s grim up north etc), but I forgave this, in part because I giggled so much. It was smooth and a little too trite in its vision, but for a few diverting belly laughs it was just the ticket! Oh, where does one begin with Catholicism and its, erm, ‘philosophy’. First of all I knew, aged 9, when I asked my Catholic school R.E. teacher why there were no female priests and why the Pope was always a man and she shrugged at me and more or less said, ‘It’s God’s will’, that there and then this Catholicism malarkey was a bit rum, and not necessarily in a good way. ‘Oh, and why is God a man, Miss?’, well let’s just say the look on her face suggested an upstart like me asking such impertinent questions ought to disengage the brain and just accept it. It just was. Not good enough for me, even at that age, and when I looked into the whole shebang a little more and saw a benighted thinking (if you could call it such), denying women a choice in terms of their bodies’ reproductive status, banned abortions, under any circumstances, however horrendous, and wanted me to go into a wee booth and confess all my dirty thoughts to a, frankly creepy, stranger in a frock, well, I ran for the hills to breathe the clean air of a life without following unsubstantiated, and often pernicious, moral dictums enunciated by an invisible sky God. Atheism (or for me, agnosticism: call me weak) seemed a better option: a non-prophet organisation with no invisible means of support.
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