Family

Family Life

~ Kate Wilson ~ 6 Comments

A little change of subject.
One of the hardest things about The Catalan Way for me – in fact THE hardest thing – is having to cope with life in the same house as an adolescent who isn’t my own one. I am trying to act as though he is but of course the reality is different. We don’t have the shared history that would make me feel secure in myself. I am the intruder.

Right now, in the kitchen, he and two friends eating toasted sandwiches and drinking milk/juice.
Harmless of course – and nothing bad is happening. None of them are rude or bad mannered.
But I feel awkward and ill at ease. I go in there and the room goes silent. I come out and they start talking and laughing. Am I sure they aren’t laughing at me?  They close the door so I know I am not welcome

I know I know. Everyone finds this age quite difficult to deal with.
 But when it is in another language, in a house that is more his than mine, in a family that I only joined three years ago, it makes me feel incredibly uncomfortable.  I am always walking a thin line anyway, trying my best to feel a part of this world but this situation, and of course this is not the first time, always makes me feel sick with nerves. I do not feel confident and who better to reveal this in its nakedness than a group of 17 year olds.

I tried to chat – but what language do I use?  Do I fumble around in Castellano or Catalan?  Do I just speak English and know that they don’t really understand me or they feel I am ‘that weird British woman’?   Do I ignore them and make my tea in silence while they wait for me to go? 

I feel my body tighten up. I struggle anyway to communicate but this situation really puts me to the test and, as so often, today I fail.

Barça-Celtic

~ Kate Wilson ~ 3 Comments

I was quite surprised when the Resident Adolescent agreed to accompany me to see this match in Camp Nou. It was us alone – just us – noone else to help or hinder us. It’s not like we are great friends. We’re not big enemies either but you know how it is with a 17 year old especially if they are not your own son?  The step mother/son relationship is not always easy and has a huge heavy weight of baggage attached to it. Too many unexpressed emotions and not enough shared experience to carry you over the humps. Then there is the teenage  refusal to communicate.  How on earth are you supposed to make friendly contact when you are creatures from different planets?  And we had never been out together alone before.

Well, perhaps going to see Barça play at Camp Nou might bring us together.

Amazingly, we had a great time. We travelled by train and metro and foot and stopped off for a drink and something to eat. You have to talk a little when you are sharing a patatas bravas!  We chatted.  I overcame my shyness enough to ask relevant questions about discos and DJs and exams and football and he overcame his enough to answer and even smile.
I didn’t retreat behind my Kindle and nor did he behind his mobile phone.
Success!
We had great seats, right behind the corner so we could see Messi and Xavi close up

We were surrounded by kindly good-natured Barça fans except for two feisty Glasgow wifies sitting behind us who bravely chirped “Cel-tic  Cel-tic” every time that the crowd bellowed “BARÇA BARÇA”

The only false move I made was to scream and shout when Celtic got the first goal.
‘Sorry! I know I embarrassed you. But I couldn’t help it’.  He was mortified but too polite to complain.
For a few golden minutes Celtic was in the lead at Camp Nou

Afterwards as we walked away from the stadium it was me who felt embarrassed. Somehow the loud drunken chanting and bravado of the defeated Scottish fans, although harmless, seemed immature in comparison to the quiet chat of the Barça crowd.  It’s not that they are quiet during the game – our neighbours kept up a constant steam of oathes whenever it seemed that Barça was doing badly.
I learnt some new swear words although in the main it was the usual, puta mierda, collons, Ostia, cony. But after the game – friendliness and calm.

In the bar before the match one green and white clad Glaswegian fan insisted on shaking hands with all the men at this table of Catalans. ‘Good luck to you all’ he said as he pumped each arm.

So it’s not lack of good will that makes the Scottish fans seem edgy and pugnacious but perhaps an excess of alcohol?  Or is it just a different football culture?  Or insecurity?  Or that strange inferiority complex that can afflict us?   It feels like an anger that can easily bubble to the surface – something in the tone even of the chants.  I can’t imagine ever wanting to go to a football match in the UK – the seam of aggression that lies below the surface would scare me but I don’t feel that fear at Camp Nou.  As I have said before, Scotland and Catalunya – not really that similar.

Barça – Glasgow Celtic

~ Kate Wilson ~ 2 Comments

Look at this!

I went up to Barcelona today to get the tickets and to check on the route. We had paid on the internet but ‘for security reasons’ you can’t print out the tickets at home. Tomorrow I need to accompany the Resident Adolescent to hospital for a check up and it leaves us very little time to arrive at Camp Nou, let alone have to collect the tickets so I decided to go up to town and get them first.  The football game will be our first outing together – just us two as his father is working!

From Granollers I took the train to Sants then a metro to Badal and a 10 minute walk to the stadium.
There were lots of Scottish people around, wearing green jerseys and looking at home.  Normally in the UK I’d run a million miles to escape football supporters but somehow here in Camp Nou they seemed more human and friendly.
I don’t fancy meeting them after they get a few drinks inside though.

I picked up the tickets after a fair bit of faffing around in the wrong queues and at the wrong gate. The place to pick up pre-ordered tickets is just inside Gate 14 and there are no signs leading you there.
Afterwards I did the journey in reverse, noting down times and deciding that if we catch the 7.30 train tomorrow we can just make it to see the opening of the match.  I took the metro from Collblanc on the way home which I think is slightly closer.

Now to decide what to wear to the match.  And who am I supporting?  It feels really interesting to have this match now – with all the Scottish Catalan connections around independence.

Should be interesting.

PS After I got home the hospital rang and cancelled the appointment – so we can leave early and catch the beginning of the game. Yippee!

More cake

~ Kate Wilson ~ 3 Comments

A lovely family lunch today and someone brought cake!
The one with nuts on top is made from a kind of squash and is called Coca de Cabell D’Àngel’.

Cabell D’Àngel means Angel Hair.
The fruity one has crema inside – no need to tell you that there isn’t much left of that one! They were both delicious.

Interesting family fact of the week……here the word for parents is ‘pares’ which is also the word for fathers. The word for siblings is ‘germans’ which actually means brothers. It is a common mistake for people learning English to ask about your fathers or your brothers, regardless of gender.

Dog Listener

~ Kate Wilson ~ 4 Comments

Today a vet is coming round to try and help us with the problem between Bonnie and Duna.
It’s not been good recently and it’s now impossible to let them be in the same room unless Duna is tied up.

On Thursday night we returned from a peaceful supper with family (in itself a miracle) and as we unlocked the front door Duna somehow got out of the patio and attacked Bonnie who was in the living room.
Blood.  Mostly Duna’s but she doesn’t mind losing, she just wants to fight.
Yesterday I took Bonnie for a long walk – 11 km – to relax her constant anxiety a little. And mine.
We came home, walked through the front door and Duna like a hound from hell launched herself at Bonnie with ferocious teeth and raving eyes.
I then went bonkers!  I can’t cope with it. I feel so powerless and so desperate for peace.

So the vet is coming.  I am not really hopeful but am interested to see what she says. All I hear from friends and on the internet is that it is one of the hardest things to resolve and probably one of them must go.

It won’t be Bonnie – unless I go with her.

On a happier note, for those of you who know something of my life here, I want to whisper that there is a girl upstairs in bed with the Resident Adolescent.   Today is also Day 1 of our new family-together-all-the-time life. By this I mean that his mother has gone back to Brazil and he is living with us permanently.

Is this something hopeful?  Perhaps showering will commence?