Author: Kate Wilson

The Day I Fell into the River

~ Kate Wilson ~ 9 Comments
A long time ago I went punting in Cambridge with some friends and a dog.

We took a picnic  and decided to moor up when we reached a quiet spot on the river. I was the most experienced punter and guided us with ease through crowds of tourists  being punted expertly by young students or whirling in giggling circles as their punt poles got stuck in the mud.

We saw a lovely place under a weeping willow and,handing the punting pole over to one of my friends, I grabbed the metal spike that would secure us to the bank and then did something really stupid.

I stepped onto the grassy bank with one foot while the other still stood on the punt.  You can imagine what happened next.

You are supposed to jump!

I was thinking this morning that my situation here in Catalunya has some similarities with that thoughtless action. Everything has been going  so well, I was confident and steering my course happily through life until,  suddenly and without warning my survival instinct deserted me and I tried to stand in two places at once, not realising that moving from one home to another requires that you make a leap of faith.

And here I am now, not at home in either place. I let go of all that was familiar and supportive in Cornwall and yet kept a firm grasp on my home there.  I still have that house even though someone else rents it.  My mind is partly there at all times, worrying about damp and storms, hoping the grass is cut and the roof is in place.  We go every summer and work hard doing what we can in a few short months only to leave it again and travel south.

Today here I am in Catalunya.   I have a home here  but it was never my own as I moved into my partner’s house when we began our relationship.  It has been in his family for generations.  How could it ever be mine?  Really I am like a long term lodger.  I worry endlessly about how to create a home here in Catalunya but am daunted by the idea of another place to take care of.

How much energy do I want to spend on maintaining houses?

Two of everything but not a home to call my own

Work, friendships, cars, home – I have two sets of each.  Endless keys, two mobile phones, two purses with different money and credit cards for each country.   Two doctors, two hairdressers, two beauticians for god’s sake!   My family are all in the UK but I have friends in both places.  In Britain I feel confident and strong – I know where to find an electrician,  I go to the doctor and it is easy to explain all my vague mid-life symptoms.  In Catalunya my daily life  is great and I enjoy it.  But there is the constant sensation that my feet are not on the ground.

Isn’t it a lovely dream?  New lover, a chance to learn two languages in another culture, Mediterranean food, sunshine, exciting places to explore.  Yes, it is a lovely dream

On the other side it has been a constant challenge. When I look back to my first years here I see how many ‘new’ things  I tried to assimilate in one big bite.

  • New relationship
  • Living with a man for the first time in ages
  • New family – being step mother to an adolescent was never on my fantasy list
  • Two new languages
  • New culture

Writing it like this makes it seem like a small thing.  I hear you say ‘hey, I could do that if I had the chance‘

But the reality for me was that it totally overwhelmed me.  I have had to lean hard on all my support systems.  I have never before used so much Skype, email, telephone.   This blog is part of my survival package.  Everything seemed so hard and yet I couldn’t decide if it was normal, or my fault, or that I was just in the wrong place.  And also I was happy so how could it be wrong?

It’s the indecision that creates the wobble

I stayed and tried harder, looking for every way possible to make myself a more flexible and accepting and patient person.   In the end I can see how much I have changed and matured in this process. I do feel stronger and brighter and happier and wiser.

But still I find myself hovering in this strange contorted position with one foot on the bank and the other on a moving object. I have certainly learned how to balance but it is not an easy place to be.

I have been here for five years now.  Isn’t it time that both my feet were together in one place.

There is a strange time warp just before you fall

Imagine that moment in the punt – that long moment when I realised I was in two places but fully committed to neither and that as the boat started to move away from the bank there was only one way to go.   It was a very long moment, one that seemed eternal as my mind took in the inevitable consequence that was about to take place. Arms flailing, throat letting out a visceral AHHHHHH,  on that day I fell in slow motion into the river.

And then surfaced again, laughing and laughing.

If it is time to fall then I am ready. My legs can’t hold out much longer!

Why do I write this here?

I am interested in the process of change in people’s lives and how they survive the stress and what they bring out of the experience.   I want to be as honest as possible about what has happened to me after moving to Catalunya.  In many ways I feel I have failed to thrive as I wanted to.   And yet I have gained things I never imagined were possible.  It has been much harder than I expected, much more challenging and I have felt insecure and anxious much of the time. Yet also much happier than I ever thought possible. Strange isn’t it?

If my experience is normal  then I want to write about it in case someone else finds it reassuring. And if in the end it is ‘just me’ then why hide it?

I made a list this morning of all the people I know who are incomers, foreigners, immigrants.  It was interesting to see that many of them arrived with an pre-existing partner or family.  They brought their own community.  Most of them created a new home  from scratch whether owned or rented.  Others who came alone often had a specific job to do or arrived with no intention of making this country a permanent home.

I only know one other person who moved country, changed language, started a new relationship, entered a step family situation and also lives in someone else’s home.  I know we have a lot of struggles in common.

My advice to anyone would be – if possible migrate in families or at least in pairs.  Prioritise your actual home and make sure it is at least half your own.  In this way you have solid ground under your feet and a safe place to gather strength when the inevitable challenges arise.

 

 

The migration of birds helps me understand my life

~ Kate Wilson ~ 5 Comments

Starlings over Marazion Marshes

I promised myself I would write here today and although it is late at night I want to keep to that promise.

Now that I have this brand new beautiful blog I feel shy about writing unless it is worthwhile, interesting, wonderful and perfect.

Impossible expectations of myself only freeze my creativity.

So here I am writing just an ordinary post, hoping at least to capture something of the moment that I am living through right now.

I am back in Cornwall yet again.

I arrived about three weeks ago and tomorrow night I leave Penzance on the sleeper train to London. On Saturday I will fly to Barcelona and then travel on by train to Granollers.

It is the first time in years that I have been back in Cornwall in November and  I have loved it.  The weather has been pretty good and I’ve been able to walk along the deserted coast path and on the empty beaches. The winter birds have arrived and the summer tourists have gone.

The roads are quiet and the streets of Penzance have been returned to the locals.

Starlings going home to roost

But I found myself aware that I am no longer a local.   I am not a tourist but am definitely a visitor. Some people in my village of Lamorna didn’t recognise me.  Others are surprised to see me at this time of year and every day someone is asking,  ” How long are you here this time?”  and  “When do you go off again?”         It is perfectly natural for people to want to know these things.  There is something disturbing about someone who comes and goes, someone who used to live here and be part of the fabric of life but who suddenly upped and went off to live in Spain.  I hear an element of accusation in the questions, a hint of annoyance as if I decided to go because Cornwall wasn’t good enough for me.

Being a migrant means I am expected at certain times of the year and am seen as a strange occurance at others.  As if I have flown off course.

This makes me sad and makes me long to settle down and stay again, to be a year round resident.

And yet…..

I feel the call of the south.   I want to go  where the sun shines with more warmth.  There is something – and  someone who is calling me.  And in the spring I will start to dream of Cornish cliffs and of my country cabin.

I don’t like feeling like a transient visitor when I come to Cornwall but somehow this is now my reality.

I have always felt drawn to birds and known a link between their lives and mine.

It helps me understand my life now when I think about migration

“Migration – the regular movement of birds and other creatures from one part of the world to another and back again – is one of the wonders of the natural world”

“Migration is a form of adaptation. Birds migrate to survive’

I regularly move from Catalunya to Cornwall and back again.  It is certainly something that creates wonder in my world. This life has forced me to learn to adapt and to be flexible.

But why do I do it even when it creates stress and anxiety in my life?

I started my own annual migration in order to survive. I really think that is true. It is something healthy for me even though it also has been difficult and sometimes painful.

It is so easy to feel that I ‘should’ settle down in one place and make up my mind where I want to be.  And yet if I connect to my bird nature then it is natural to move between two places, meeting the needs of the different seasons and risking the journeys between them in order to have two nests where I feel at home.

Here is my companion Grace who went with me today to Marazion, to walk the beach, watch the starlings and to think deep thoughts.

Grace with St Michaels Mount behind her

 

La Monyos – flowers in her hair.

~ Kate Wilson ~ 5 Comments

Have you heard of La Monyos?

I hadn’t until quite recently when my partner told me about the mysterious eccentric lady who used to live in Barcelona and was often seen walking on the Ramblas

La Monyos

Her name was Dolores Bonella i Alcazar and although not much is known about her life, there are many stories about who she was and what happened to turn her into a seemingly crazy street lady.

‘Ets més popular que La Monyos‘ is a famous Catalan expression meaning that you are more popular than the much beloved Dolores or Lolita as she was known.

Continue reading →

Welcome! Fancy a Vermut?

~ Kate Wilson ~ 9 Comments

This is my first post on the new look blog.  I have been so busy planning and preparing for the changeover that I forgot to write a post to welcome you over here.

So, let’s sit down and share a virtual vermut, which is my way of saying there is no one theme to this post, it is more like a chat between friends, dancing from one subject to another. With a virtual vermut in hand!

1. Independence Day

Last Sunday we had the independence vote in Catalunya. It was a success in spite of many legal attempts to stop it happening. It is good to know I was there and I took part.

We went to our voting station, my stepsons old school in fact. There was a long queue winding down the street and around the corner and down the main road. People of all ages were there and many arrived with the whole family, and the dog.   We met friends. I saw the elderly couple who own my parking space, and the lady who runs the local gym.  People arrived in wheel chairs and supported on walking frames.

The best thing for me was how happy everyone was. Even though it was not an officially approved vote, the Spanish government even called it ‘sterile and useless’, in spite of all this, people were deeply moved to be voting at last on something so close to their hearts. It was well organised, calm, determined and community based. Inside at the ballot box almost everyone had their photo taken at the important moment of dropping the envelope into the slot.

2. Brrrrrrrr

The weather changed this week. As always it surprised me with the speed of the change. Only a couple of weeks ago I was swimming with my sister at Llafranc on the Costa Brava and then suddenly I was putting on coats and boots and even wearing socks to bed at night.  When I complain that the summer is too hot and the winter too cold and there is not enough time in between with just sunny mild days, my partner replies, ‘This is the Mediterranean and that is the nature of it. Sudden changes, extremes of weather, not so much of the inbetweens’  Does this say something about the Mediterranean personality too? After five years living here I find I am more like this too.

3. Family

I am pleased to tell you there seems to be a mellowing in the relationship between my stepson and myself. He is 19 now and although he’s still not much of a helper or a chatter at home and has to be reminded almost every time to wash his dishes or clean the hairs from the bathroom sink, I still notice a softening of the walls that keep us apart.  Is it his age?  Is it because I have spent a lot of time sending him love and peace as I stride along the streets, flicking through my prayer beads?  Is it because I have changed?

I practise speaking to him as he whizzes past me in the house and maybe even these few words that show I am interested have opened up  little gaps in the wall. I hope so as sometimes it feels impossible to continue living with someone who ignores me so totally. It has been almost  five years!

4. Five Years

Five years ago in December 2009 I started writing this blog. I was sitting at my desk in a chilly flat in Carrer Valencia, Barcelona.  I felt lonely and a bit lost in the middle of my new life in Catalunya. I had a new and still fragile relationship, several new friendships which were as yet untested , two languages to learn, a  beloved yet strange city to explore, and I felt myself to be vulnerable and anxious.  People kept questioning my ways of thinking and doing things. Even walking down the street was challenging as I hadn’t yet discovered that people in Catalunya walk on the right side and British people walk on the left!

I decided to write a blog and the name came to me almost immediately. The Catalan Way – it was like my private joke reminding myself that while I was here I must do things in the Catalan way.  I had decided to be open to change and I didn’t want to be a typical foreigner who insisted on doing things their way. I had come to learn and to expand my possibilities so now I must educate myself about the Catalan way and try to follow it.

The blog became my friend and my guide. From writing it I made new friends and I learned more about myself as I tried to understand what was going on around and inside me. I hope I also have shared some of this in a way that is interesting for others even if you have never been to Catalunya or met me.

Now here is my new version of The Catalan Way. I am very excited about this new stage of the journey and  I hope you will come along with me to see what happens next. I know of course that it is as much about me as it is about Catalunya.  I often struggle with decisions about what to write – more on Catalunya and less on my life here?  Or the other way around?   But Kate’s way seems to be a mix of both.

Welcome to Kate’s journey on the Catalan way.

We will remember Excalibur

~ Kate Wilson ~ Leave a comment

My dog Bonnie, as many of you know, died in February this year after being diagnosed with a lymphoma in her abdomen. It is still something that hurts me a lot and some days I am knocked backwards by a memory which both makes me smile and cry. I miss her and I feel a large collie sized hole in my heart.

She died peacefully with both me and Pep by her side, in the peaceful gardens of Sant Nicolau. A kindly woman vet administered the injections and with a little sigh Bonnie left this earth.

So, I can’t imagine how the nurse Teresa Romero and her husband Javier Limon will cope with the pain of losing their dog Excalibur who was taken from their home by men in Ebola protection suits and killed by who knows who, in some place who knows where.

I have been following this story ever since we heard that Teresa, a nurse in Madrid had contracted Ebola after helping care for two Spanish priests who had been working in West Africa. They both later died from the disease. Teresa had volunteered for this work and did it with all possible professionalism and with more, she did it with love. She had received the training available and followed procedures but somehow the virus got through the protective layers of her suit and she became ill.

She had been back home and living a normal life before she got sick and so her husband and several other people who had been in contact with her were put into isolation only hours after she herself was taken into hospital.

This couple had no children but they had a much loved dog called Excalibur. Before leaving the flat Javier left food and water for him, not knowing how long he would be away. There were others who could come and take care of Excalibur if necessary and as it all happened in a moment of great crisis and confusion, he did the best he could, leaving the door to the balcony open so Excalibur could go outside.

But Ebola is a serious disease and of course access to the flat was forbidden. Excalibur spent a couple of days there alone while in the outside world there began an argument about what would happen to him. Teresa was fighting for her life and knew nothing of what was going on. Javier was trapped inside an isolated room in the hospital but was able to say he wanted his dog to be cared for in quarantine to see if he was carrying the virus or was not infected at all. The authorities made it clear they intended to go in and get the dog and put it to sleep, euthanise it, kill it…. use whatever description you want…. later Teresa called it an execution.  The health officials had no intention of waiting nor of consulting other experts in the field. The dog, in their opinion, was not important enough to save, nor to monitor under care and they would get rid of it.

A campaign grew on Facebook and other social media and I was able to follow the story on the page, Salvemos a Excalibur. People went to protest on the street outside the apartment. The police went in and broke up the crowds. One day a van arrived, men dressed head to toe in protective suits entered the flat, took Excalibur away and that was that.

I read lots of newspapers at the time, both in English and Spanish. Of course there were many who thought it ridiculous that such a fuss was made about a dog when there are thousands of humans dying from Ebola. People sneered at protestors and accused them of the usual ‘crime’ of caring more about animals than people.

But I felt strongly this was about more than a dog – and I care very much about the actual dog although of course I don’t know Excalibur and my grief for him was nothing like the grief for my own Bonnie. The people involved directly were Teresa and Javier. Their feelings were ignored by the authorities, their rights were not respected. At the same time there were reports in the newspapers that Teresa had somehow caused her own infection by touching her face with her hand when removing the protective suit.  This seemed an incredibly crass attempt to absolve the health officials from responsibility – perhaps for not providing good enough equipment, or doing enough staff training, or failing to have enough staff so someone would help Teresa remove her suit. Surely there would be an inquiry which would take time to analyse what had happened. How could anyone just make public statements in the days after Teresa became ill, naming her as the one who had made a mistake?  When she wasn’t able to respond as she was in isolation and was close to dying.

Excalibur showed up a system where panic and cover-up seemed to be the response to a problem rather than honesty and respect and integrity. 

In the days that followed there was a similar case in the United States which only made the Spanish authorities seem more inept, dishonest and stupid. The American nurse also had a dog but the US authorities took it into quarantine, released photos so we all knew the quarantine was comfortable and there were toys and home comforts. They were also testing the blood and furthering the scientific knowledge of Ebola which some say can be carried by dogs but there is still a lot to learn.  When the nurse (who also thankfully survived) and her dog were reunited there were videos of the happy meeting between them.

I cannot imagine how painful it must be to Teresa Romero and Javier Limon to see these films, to go over and over in their minds the last days of Excalibur and to know that he died without good reason and without the presence of those who loved him. At the time he died no-one knew if he carried the virus so of course he was not patted or stroked or given human love. How can they bear this pain on top of everything else? My heart aches for them.

Yesterday Teresa Romero came out of hospital at last and has gone to Galicia to recover at the family home. She attended a very short press conference and thanked all the staff who had cared for her – the nurses, the cleaning staff, the auxiliaries and the doctors. She was too emotional to speak about Excalibur but her husband read out her statement. She said that her dog was like a child to her and her husband and that killing him was not necessary.

Interestingly many of the news media ignored this part of her statement – all the films showed her smiling and saying ‘thank you’ but I had to search for the statements given by her husband. 

“The worse part of all of this is that our dog was not given a chance”

  • Ambulance staff in Cadiz bought their own Ebola protection suits as the ones provided were not ‘up to the job’
  •  Health workers in Madrid and many others are calling for the resignation of health minister Ana Mato claiming that the equipment and training provided are inadequate.
  •  Madrid regional health chief Javier Rodriguez accused Teresa Romero on public radio of lying about her symptoms and making mistakes which caused her  contract the disease. He later apologised.
  • After being released from isolation Teresa’s husband Javier said ‘they destroyed our life, they killed our dog and they nearly killed my wife’
  •  He will be seeking redress in the courts on behalf of his wife and their dog.