Author: Kate Wilson

Feeling Better

~ Kate Wilson ~ 7 Comments

What is so lovely about writing this blog is that I feel I have friends close to me even when so many are far away. Thank you all who wrote such loving messages to me after yesterday’s post.
I think the Virtual Vermut idea has taken off and I will start writing that next week – not sure what day yet but I’ll invite you in good time!
And perhaps another day for the Virtual Adolescent? Someone suggested this one could come complete with remote control – that sounds good.  Mute button, change channel, switch off!
Today I girded my loins and after Catalan class forced myself to go to the gym. No arguments. A quick reviving coffee in Roca Umbert art centre (and a tiny little chocolate croissant – really tiny) and I cycled over to Golds Gym.
It is a bodybuilders place, no frills, even the womens’  changing room has been taken over by the men so I had to leave my bike in the office and ask someone to check for naked men before I went in to have a pee!
Tiffany discovered the place and invited me to go along with her the first few times. I like it because there are no young skinny brown Catalan women in skimpy shorts.  Apart from us there are never any women at all!  I like it because I can go in, do my exercises and leave without any faffing about with induction sessions or membership cards. I also like it because it is cheap – 20 euros for a month so even if I chicken out half the time then I am still only paying about 1 euro a visit.
What makes it hard then?
There are no women! So sometimes I feel conspicuous and alone as the boys pump their muscles and shout across the room to each other in Castellano.  The music is often incredibly loud and the videos are ‘interesting’!  I think it must have been kick boxing I was watching on Monday – it involved two men getting their heads very tangled up in each others arms and legs and groins.  Then they stood up and kicked each other.
Today it was great. My least favourite minder was on duty but he was very friendly this time. There were only four other men who stayed mostly in the free weights area, leaving the machines just for me. The music was tolerable so I could hear the tango on my ipod and the video was actually enjoyable to watch.  A lot of women doing belly dancing  and occasionally kissing each other while making eyes at the camera.  I stayed an hour and a half and left feeling great.
In terms of scary things I think going to this gym is on a par with the Barcelona milongas when I go on my own but….at least I don’t have to wait for someone to ask me to dance!

Would you like a drink?

~ Kate Wilson ~ 12 Comments

There is a blog I like a lot by a woman in Canada, Bodhi Chicklet, where she writes posts called Virtual Coffee.  She invites you to join her for a chat and tells you all the things she might say if you were actually there. I hope she doesn’t mind if just for today I pinch the idea and invite you for a virtual vermut(vermouth).
If you were here sitting with me this evening on the terrace this is what I would tell you

I suppose that if you are a middle-aged British woman who moves to Spain it is unavoidable that sometimes you will have to struggle with the OFU feeling. That means – for those of you who have never been there – Old Fat and Ugly.  Surrounded by young brown dark-eyed slim Catalan/Spanish women it is not always easy to feel good about yourself. Especially when your partner tells you that your (sort of ) step son says you are lletja. This is Catalan for ugly.

Of course he didn’t expect this to be repeated to me but it was and so I have to deal with it.  When you are 16 anyone over the age of 20 will probably be lletja but…..and this came on a day when I already had chickened out of the gym because I couldn’t face a roomful of muscley men.
And next weekend I am invited to a family birthday party where the ex wife will also be.  As she normally walks past me without speaking on the street it doesn’t seem a very tempting invitation. But you are expected to go to family things here – you seem strange if you don’t.
Anyway, I spent the afternoon cleaning a room that was my late mother-in-laws workroom – just brushing the floor and tidying things into piles, and thinking about her. Remembering another day when I had the OFU blues and went to visit her.  She had called me upstairs – as her flat is above ours she could wave and call down from her kitchen window – and vulnerable as I was on that day I ended up bursting into tears on her shoulder.  What a lovely woman – she confided that she had never felt pretty and, lovingly as always, she told me how much she liked my face, my smile and my energy in the house.  Goodness I miss her!
Then our house was 50/50 women and men.  Two of each. Now it is just me and the boys.
Working my way around her room, seeing her flower arranging equipment, her painting gear, her stained glass tools, I wished once again that we could have spent more time together. All the times that I was too busy to go in for a cup of tea came back to haunt me.
I found some lovely old cooking magazines that were priced in pesetas.

Afterwards I brushed her patio and reminded myself that I must water her plants more often now that it is getting hotter. It’s so pleasant to be up there almost talking with her.  Everything is still as it was when she was here – and yet it’s not.

Her table and chairs have recently migrated down to our terrace and this is where we can drink our vermouth and listen to the swifts. It’s nice to have a comfortable place to sit for the first time and I love the cushions – aren’t they nice? She probably made them like so many other things in the house.

But I’d so much rather she was still upstairs waving from the window and calling me in for a chat

A Night in Falset

~ Kate Wilson ~ 4 Comments

For some time I have been dreaming of going to Falset.
Something about the name conjured up an image of a garden of delights.
When we finally went there a couple of weeks ago it didn’t disappoint.
We had only one night, staying with a kind and interesting aunt who made us very comfortable in her beautiful house with it’s idyllic walled garden

Walking around the town, I heard and saw my first swallows of the year

The place seemed peopled by some strange new race who smiled and greeted you on every corner. Even the children called out Bon Dia and Adeu! The houses have hooks outside the doors conveniently placed for tying up your donkey

Duna found a friend and spent half an hour circling and sniffing and approaching and retreating without a single growl or curling of lip

We walked on Sunday morning to the St Gregory hermitage which is set in the rocks and scented by wild rosemary, passing on the road this strange mysterious arch

 The aunt has adopted the wonderful habit of eating all her meals out, thus avoiding the problem of shopping, cooking or washing up. Who is it that does this in London? Gilbert and George I think.
So we had lunch and dinner in the restaurant at the local pool, La Piscina, where she was greeted with hugs and kisses from all the staff and we ate wonderful things like grilled asparagus with Romesco, fish soup

 baked cod

 and of course puddings!  Crema catalana and apple tart

All accompanied by the delicious wine of the region. Perhaps it is because I first tasted the wine from Falset before going there that I had such a predisposition to love the place.

Catalan spoken here

~ Kate Wilson ~ 4 Comments

You know how one thing leads to another and tonight I can’t remember exactly how I got there but I ended up reading this really interesting article by Matthew Tree.

http://www.scribd.com/doc/12552276/Life-on-the-Receiving-End-Matthew-Tree

He is a Londoner who moved to Barcelona in 1979, taught himself Catalan and now writes and talks about Catalunya.

This article is a good introduction to the history of Catalunya, the reasons behind the push to be an independent state (again!), and the reality of anti-Catalan prejudice in Spanish-Spain.
I came here first as a fairly typical visitor to Barcelona, without any knowledge of the history and only a vague awareness of the importance of the Catalan language. I wanted to learn ‘Spanish’ by which I meant castellano and I loved Barcelona so it seemed a good idea to do it here. Dancing tango meant that I was often in the company of Latin American people who also spoke castellano so I was quite resistant to the idea of learning Catalan. Barcelona also has many immigrant residents who don’t speak Catalan and it is common in the cafes to ask for a cafe amb llet and be ‘corrected’ by the waitress who frowns and says ‘cafe con leche?’
But little by little I have tried to educate myself and of course now am learning Catalan. It is the language of my new family and of Granollers. It is a language I enjoy rolling around my tongue – the words are satisfying.  It is also a language which has survived in spite of  massive attempts by the Spanish state to stamp it out so there is an additional pleasure in playing a small part in resisting oppression.
Do read the article if you are at all interested in learning more about Catalunya. It is very readable and clearly written – might take you half an hour but it’s worth it, especially if you are one of the many people who visit and care about Barcelona.
Here is one quote to whet your appetite
In 1881, any legal or commercial document written in Catalan – from a testament to a tram ticket – was decreed null and void.
The Catalans’ insisted on using their own language despite all of this – in 1924, the architect Antoni Gaudí once famously said to a policeman who, infuriated by being addressed in Catalan by this venerable old gentleman, asked him if could speak Spanish: ‘Of course I can! I just don’t feel like it!’ he replied, before being taken in for questioning)  (Matthew Tree)

I recently had a satellite dish installed at home in order to receive BBC and ITV programmes. The man who did the job was English but has lived here for more than ten years. He seemed pleasant enough until I asked him if he spoke any Catalan and his whole attitude changed. ‘No’ he said ‘ I don’t and to be honest I don’t want to. I hate the sound of it. My wife feels the same – all the English here do’ 
I said quietly ‘well just as well that I’m Scottish’

And now the swifts

~ Kate Wilson ~ 10 Comments

A thousand birds are in my grove,
Melodious from morn to night;
My fruit trees are their treasure trove,
Their happiness is my delight.               Robert Service The Bird Sanctuary

The swifts arrived this morning while I was out on the terrace watering the plants.

I had just commented to my partner that last year they arrived on April 7th when I heard a familiar chatter, looked up, and they flew over. It wasn’t their normal screeching sound – definitely more like a ‘well here we are – back in Granollers’ conversation.

About 7 or 8 of them and how lovely to see them surfing the currents high above our home.

Why do I never see people here looking up in wonder at the birds?

Speaking of which….one of the things I imported from the UK was a new bird feeder as I can’t find anything like that in Catalunya. I need to make up some seed mix though – any suggestions about what to put in?