On Napkins

When my Catalan friends Marta and Cristina first arrived in Cornwall all those years ago, they brought to my attention the absence of napkins. They felt it strongly, the lack of a napkin laid beside the place setting in my home.
Of course I had napkins, lots of them, all ironed and folded up on a shelf. They would be brought out and used if I had people round for dinner, or at Christmas or my birthday.
But in Catalunya everyone has a napkin ready for use at every meal – breakfast, lunch or dinner. And usually it is a proper one of cotton or linen. When guests come to eat they may be given only a folded paper one but if you are staying for a few days then you too get one of your own to be used several times. How do you know it is your one?  Well, either they are all of different colours or you have individual rings. After a few meals you can tell which one belongs to the Resident Adolescent as it is more wrinkled and covered in tomato sauce!

It must be a sign of my Catalanisation that I too now notice the lack of a napkin when I am eating. People in northern Europe don’t have this custom and you are only given something to wipe your hands and mouth on if the food is especially sticky or messy. And sometimes not even then!

Isn’t it funny how you can change something so basic as needing a napkin or not?

At home in Granollers I decided to always give guests a proper one rather than paper as we have such huge piles of napkins and it is easy to throw it into the next clothes wash if it is only used once.

One of the earliest lessons I remember from my mother was to never ever call a napkin a serviette. There’s another funny thing – I still get a frisson of dismay when I hear that word and if I was teaching English table manners I would probably find myself passing on this taboo.

Feeling at Home

Today was lovely. Staying at the home of my good friend Janet where everything feels familiar and comfortable.  Our hosts are away at a festival (please don’t rain too much on them all tomorrow!)  and we are enjoying just being in one place, no driving, no need to squelch through wet grass to get to a toilet, no cooking on two rings while kneeling in my low roofed camper van.
I felt Happy with a capital H.
Outside there is a beautiful traditional English garden full of flowers and vegetables and bird song.
Inside there is Radio 4 wittering away as I do some ironing for my friend.
I love living in Catalunya but sometimes I need this sense of safe and familiar and welcome and easy.
All cells in my body were singing today and I imagined Bonnie was feeling the same as she raced through green wet grass outside.  She rolled on the ground waving her legs in ecstasy.

I don’t think it is the UK we need – just a safe and peaceful home in Catalunya.

We will find it!  Please God let it be soon.

Bringing a dog into the UK

Time for another trip through the Eurotunnel with the dogs.
If you are worried about travelling this route or anxious about the process of getting through pet passport control then please be reassured – it is very easy.

Since the rules changed at the beginning of January 2012 it is now even easier coming back into the UK from Europe.

  • You now have 1-5 days to see a vet before entering the UK and they only need worm treatment.

Here is what we did this time.

1. Seeing the vet

As we were driving up through France we stopped at a vet in a small town en route.
Our Eurotunnel crossing was on Thursday so we did this on Tuesday, a comfortable 48 hours in advance of travel

We had camped overnight in a municipal campsite in St Martin D’Auxigny so the next morning we went into town and after breakfast, asked in the bakers for the address of a vet. They directed us to the Clinique Veterinaire (Tel 02 48 64 63 67) which was handily close to a supermarket where we filled up with wine and cheese!
The vet spoke English and saw us within 30 minutes.  Vets in France are very clued up about the pet passport so although we were checking each step we were also confident that he knew what he was doing. He checked the microchips and gave each dog two tasty worm pills which they gobbled up like treats.  Paperwork was completed – stamped and dated with the time of treatment and a clean bill of health for travelling

The whole thing cost about 32euros and we were able to drive on to Calais without worrying about having to get there at a special time.

2. Passing through passport control

Our train to Folkstone was at 11.30am. We arrived early as you can usually advance your booking if there is space on an earlier train. You drive straight to the parking by the pet passport control. There were many dogs and owners coming and going out of the small office block where you get checked. The woman used a hand held microchip detector to make sure the dogs weren’t trying to sneak by with a forged passport and then quickly checked the documents and then we left. All over in five minutes.

3. The Tunnel

As planned we were able to catch an earlier train and drove onto the train almost immediately. Unfortunately this meant missing the ‘last French coffee and cake’ so beware of doing this if, like me, you like going to the departure lounge.  Both dogs slept all the way through the tunnel – it takes about 40 minutes and as it is so comfortable for them it was worth all the miles we drove across France.
 
Travelling with these ‘not so good’ friends
We are so lucky that both Bonnie and Duna are good travellers. Bonnie sleeps on the back seat of the van and Duna curls up at the feet of whoever is travelling as passenger in the front. They are both patient and forgiving of all the boring hours of travel and strangely our life in the camper van is easier than at home – the dogs are happy to be always with us and there were no possibilities for fighting. Duna always is in the front and Bonnie always in the back so everyone is together but separate.

Sleeping all together in a small space at night meant we felt like a pack, safe and secure together. Duna likes having the front seats to herself and never has tried to jump over into the back compartment where we are with Bonnie. But just in case, she is tied by her lead to the door!

Back in the UK

Every visit back home has felt different.  If someone asked me ‘how does it feel coming back?’ I’d find it impossible to give the same answer from one trip to the next.
All I know is that there is something very relaxing about being in a familiar place where everyone speaks the same language as I do.
I catch myself preparing to speak, forming phrases (in English mind) and then mentally kicking myself – no need to stress, it’s easy, just say it!

We got back yesterday. I drove to Suffolk from Folkestone and found for the first time I needed to remember to drive on the left. That must be the result of driving more often recently in Catalunya.
While I complain a lot about roads around Barcelona I had to admit that the M20, the M25 and the A12 were all horrible to drive on. Too busy and full of impatient lorry drivers. There were not enough service stations and it was a huge relief to get onto quiet country lanes after Ipswich.

Looking for a coffee stop we eventually came off the main road and stopped in a random and, to me, unknown Essex town of Witham.
Discovered it was where Dorothy L Sayers lived and died

Found a good old traditional pub with a sunny garden out the back – the White Hart

which had a wonderful ladies toilet with photos and quotations in each cubicle




I asked Pep to check out who they had in the Men’s but there were only blank walls and a condom machine! 
Men of Essex not expected to be interested in the thoughts of Clark Gable or Cary Grant.

Somewhere in France

We are slowly making our way up through France.
Lots of camping – lots of coffee and croissants
Some disconnected thoughts  ……..
Rivers are wonderful in France and sometimes they have cascades

Why don’t all countries have municipal campsites that only cost 5 euros for a peaceful and relaxed night?  And huge beds of lavender at the entrance.

I didn’t know that circus wagons were once so common that there is a factory in Germany that made them. We slept in one – so lovely!  Many thanks to Michael and Cristiana for their hospitality.


Pretty villages

with interesting castles

are all very well but what’s the point if there is no shop nor cafe and all the traffic races through like they know it’s just a dormitory town for rich people?
Lovely wooden carving though of Virgin and child. France is good at preserving wooden things.

Driving by I caught sight of many old advertising paintings on the house walls. Too often it was impossible to stop to take a picture but I did in this quiet street – in between lorries hurtling past!

Sometimes you arrive in a little village and find something surprising like that it has a French Scottish festival going on because it used to be the family seat of the Stuarts

More soon – we have travelled a long way and seen so much.  I write this near Calais. Tomorrow is the tunnel!