The game of the name
On 25th May, two votes will take place in Spain. The first will elect new members of the European parliament, and the second will occur in the community of Castrillo Matajudíos, where the residents will decide whether to change the village name, which literally means ‘Killjews’, on the grounds that it really doesn’t sound very nice in this day and age. The two votes are quite distinct: one could be seen as lacking in importance with the result serving only a few people in a far away place, whereas the other could see a historic village name disappear.
As anyone who has travelled in Spain knows, spotting unusual names for small communities is great fun, rather like spotting red telephone boxes or finding a motorway service station with decent food in the UK. Castrillo Matajudíos may be stronger than most, but that’s not to say that it’s unique in its curiosity factor. From an English perspective, tourists who like being surprised may wish to visit the village of Boo in Cantabria, those wishing to avoid public transport could perhaps take in Busdongo, north of León, or those feeling sleepy could head for Tobed near Zaragoza.
As far as killing is concerned, Castrillo Matajudíos is certainly not alone, and a number of other places can thrust their sword into the body of contention. La Matanza, near Alicante, means ‘the slaughter’, originating from ancient battles that were fought in the area. There are also the villages of Matamorosa and Matarrepudio, both south of Santander. Regardless of origins, morosa can mean ‘in arrears or slow to pay’, whilst repudio means ‘repudiation’ – the refusal to acknowledge or pay a debt. Should you wish to visit, avoiding any financial difficulties may be a good idea. Matalobos del Páramo, in Castilla y León, basically means ‘kill the wolves of the plain’, whilst Asturias veers from killing to death with the villages of La Degollada and El Pozo de las Mujeres Muertas. The first translates as ‘a woman with her throat cut’, although it actually refers to a cut or pass in the landscape, whilst the second means ‘the well of the dead women’. The good news is that Mujeres Muertas seems to have originated due to terrain and linguistic changes, so don’t worry too much about the local water supply.
Bypassing killing and death, it’s not all compliance or eternal happiness elsewhere. Paganos, in País Vasco, translates as ‘pagans’, even though the location boasts a 16th-century church. For those who are finding it hard to smile under the current economic crisis, maybe the best option would be Triste in Aragon, which means ‘sad’. However, as recently as March last year, an advertising campaign by an ice cream company chose to convert the community temporarily to ‘the most joyous in Spain’ and gave the locals the chance to show that their character was contrary to the village name. As Triste is wonderfully situated at the side of a reservoir, perhaps the only slightly sad aspect is that the population has fallen from 399 in 1941 to around 12 today.
A village sign can be an important part of its anatomy. Photo:Flickr (CC) xornalcerto
For sheer good fun, Malcocinado (badly cooked) in the province of Badajoz and the unforgettable Villapene (penistown) near Lugo, where residents are fed up with the sign for their village being stolen, are both recommended. If you’re looking for a good hen night, then perhaps you should head for Pollos (chickens) in Valladolid, whilst for salad-lovers the villages of Cebolla and Pepino (onion and cucumber) can be found in Toledo, although it’s open to question whether the residents refer to themselves as onions and cucumbers. Toledo also hosts Buenasbodas (goodweddings). Close to Murcia, Nonduermas (don’t you sleep) may sound the perfect village for insomniacs, but its name is believed to have come from the instruction given by officers to soldiers during the period of the Christian reconquest.
In trying to select the most curious, Venta de las Ranas (sale of the frogs), in Asturias, certainly jumps out of the pond of choices. The name seems to have originated when some local land was sold, became flooded, and was then inundated with, not surprisingly, frogs. The village used to be a centre for barrel making, especially for cider, but there is no suggestion of a link between the consumption of the beverage and the vision of countless amphibians.
Names can be spawned by strange events Photo: Flickr (CC) S.Rae
Returning to Castrillo Matajudíos, the mayor, Lorenzo Rodríguez Pérez, points out that there is no evidence to connect the village with the act of its name. In fact, the name has existed for almost four hundred years, and there is a likelihood that it was created long ago by a spelling mistake in an official register, having originally been Motajudíos, with mota meaning ‘hill’. Clerical errors have always caused problems, so the theory raises questions about how some areas of London may have fared at the hands of a careless script. Would Notting Kill have become the pleasant location it is today? Would you shop in Coven Garden? Worst of all, would you land at an airport called Deathrow?
As anyone who has travelled in Spain knows, spotting unusual names for small communities is great fun, rather like spotting red telephone boxes or finding a motorway service station with decent food in the UK. Castrillo Matajudíos may be stronger than most, but that’s not to say that it’s unique in its curiosity factor. From an English perspective, tourists who like being surprised may wish to visit the village of Boo in Cantabria, those wishing to avoid public transport could perhaps take in Busdongo, north of León, or those feeling sleepy could head for Tobed near Zaragoza.
As far as killing is concerned, Castrillo Matajudíos is certainly not alone, and a number of other places can thrust their sword into the body of contention. La Matanza, near Alicante, means ‘the slaughter’, originating from ancient battles that were fought in the area. There are also the villages of Matamorosa and Matarrepudio, both south of Santander. Regardless of origins, morosa can mean ‘in arrears or slow to pay’, whilst repudio means ‘repudiation’ – the refusal to acknowledge or pay a debt. Should you wish to visit, avoiding any financial difficulties may be a good idea. Matalobos del Páramo, in Castilla y León, basically means ‘kill the wolves of the plain’, whilst Asturias veers from killing to death with the villages of La Degollada and El Pozo de las Mujeres Muertas. The first translates as ‘a woman with her throat cut’, although it actually refers to a cut or pass in the landscape, whilst the second means ‘the well of the dead women’. The good news is that Mujeres Muertas seems to have originated due to terrain and linguistic changes, so don’t worry too much about the local water supply.
Bypassing killing and death, it’s not all compliance or eternal happiness elsewhere. Paganos, in País Vasco, translates as ‘pagans’, even though the location boasts a 16th-century church. For those who are finding it hard to smile under the current economic crisis, maybe the best option would be Triste in Aragon, which means ‘sad’. However, as recently as March last year, an advertising campaign by an ice cream company chose to convert the community temporarily to ‘the most joyous in Spain’ and gave the locals the chance to show that their character was contrary to the village name. As Triste is wonderfully situated at the side of a reservoir, perhaps the only slightly sad aspect is that the population has fallen from 399 in 1941 to around 12 today.
A village sign can be an important part of its anatomy. Photo:Flickr (CC) xornalcerto
For sheer good fun, Malcocinado (badly cooked) in the province of Badajoz and the unforgettable Villapene (penistown) near Lugo, where residents are fed up with the sign for their village being stolen, are both recommended. If you’re looking for a good hen night, then perhaps you should head for Pollos (chickens) in Valladolid, whilst for salad-lovers the villages of Cebolla and Pepino (onion and cucumber) can be found in Toledo, although it’s open to question whether the residents refer to themselves as onions and cucumbers. Toledo also hosts Buenasbodas (goodweddings). Close to Murcia, Nonduermas (don’t you sleep) may sound the perfect village for insomniacs, but its name is believed to have come from the instruction given by officers to soldiers during the period of the Christian reconquest.
In trying to select the most curious, Venta de las Ranas (sale of the frogs), in Asturias, certainly jumps out of the pond of choices. The name seems to have originated when some local land was sold, became flooded, and was then inundated with, not surprisingly, frogs. The village used to be a centre for barrel making, especially for cider, but there is no suggestion of a link between the consumption of the beverage and the vision of countless amphibians.
Names can be spawned by strange events Photo: Flickr (CC) S.Rae
Returning to Castrillo Matajudíos, the mayor, Lorenzo Rodríguez Pérez, points out that there is no evidence to connect the village with the act of its name. In fact, the name has existed for almost four hundred years, and there is a likelihood that it was created long ago by a spelling mistake in an official register, having originally been Motajudíos, with mota meaning ‘hill’. Clerical errors have always caused problems, so the theory raises questions about how some areas of London may have fared at the hands of a careless script. Would Notting Kill have become the pleasant location it is today? Would you shop in Coven Garden? Worst of all, would you land at an airport called Deathrow?
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