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.
Saturday was a beautiful sunny day. We set off to look at flats by the sea on the Maresme.
It is a recent plan – that instead of looking for a new home to move into, we stay based here in Granollers and also rent a small flat, mainly for me to use as a peaceful retreat and as somewhere to put my ‘stuff’. Stuff which is still in packing boxes one year after moving it to Spain.
There is a train line that goes along the coast from Barcelona and ends up at Blanes where it turns inland. If we could find somewhere along that line it would mean an easy trip to and from town – big town I mean. There is a problem with getting across to Granollers – there are no easy connections by public transport so it would mean driving, and more importantly, parking!
And then there is the problem of the coastal towns. They were heavily developed in Franco’s Spain and so appear to my Cornish/Scottish gaze, pretty ugly and sprawly.
But their horrible industrial, modern, high-rise exteriors often hide a central area that is beautiful and more village-like
Canet de Mar is one example of this. Of course there is the busy road and the railway line which cut off the town from the sea but there is also a long sandy beach and on the other side, a town with some interesting Modernist buildings and a peaceful seaside atmosphere
There is a resident radical theatre company called The Comediants.
And posters around town advertised drawing classes and dancing.
My favourite place would be Sant Pol. It is near the beach that we go to regularly and is like a jewel on the coast, the road has turned inward and so the town is much more peaceful. The water is blue and the streets are narrow. We looked at a few flats – one too expensive, one too big, one too dark. There was a lovely one for the right price close to the beach, but far away from shops and cafes.
We picked up a free smile to keep in the car
And then went to the beach for a glorious afternoon of sun and sea air. There was hardly anyone else there – a Friday in October – a gift from the gods
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.
It is almost three years since I decided to start up a new life in Catalunya.
I left Cornwall – a place that had always felt like the perfect home with it’s beautiful scenery, relaxed lifestyle, friendly and interesting people and perfect atmosphere for creativity.
I left my home, my work, my friends and for two years I left my dogs and cats as well. It meant giving up a lot of security and of feeling ‘at home’.
Since I have been here in Catalunya I have lived in three places and now again I am thinking of changing house. It has almost become an obsession – Where is Home? Where is the best place? Mountains or coast? Town or Countryside? Where can I find a place to settle my things into their places, somewhere when I can work, a place to make sculptures, to garden and plant vegetables? Somewhere my dogs can be happy, a place to relax and get to work.
I was walking with Bonnie a few days ago and thinking again about these questions, feeling the painful longing in my stomach that usually makes me head for the computer to search through the houses for rent pages. I often blame myself for this pain – that I chose to leave my own home, that I am not able to feel totally at home in my partners house, that I have not worked hard enough to find a new place to put down my roots.
Into my head came the phrase ‘setting off to seek your fortune in far-off lands’. I thought of those stories of the traveller who leaves all that is familiar to go on a quest – normally a spiritual one.
It sounds obvious but I hadn’t thought of it like this before. Perhaps I am still journeying, still travelling with my knapsack on my back? I thought I had settled down here but what if the journey is not over? Perhaps this is not yet the moment to find a new home where I can find a new comfortable security?
Of course I want desperately to be at home, to be safe and settled but, what is it I need to learn before I can go there?
I come back again and again to the need to feel comfortable in myself, to have a strong central axis that keeps me steady no matter where I am. It is simplistic to just say ‘you need to feel at home in yourself’ as if it were just a decision you can make and …boom…you are at home.
Perhaps The Wizard of Oz is the best example of this process.
To get back home you need to find your brains, your heart, and your courage. And if you can’t find them in the place where you are then you need to go off and look for them. And this journey can be scary and lonely as well as exciting and fulfilling.
So how am I doing with all this?
Here in Catalonia I feel my heart pulsing with both joy and pain, my brain is working overtime as it copes with language problems and life issues. That leaves courage. This I think is a work in progress. While others say I am brave, I feel every day that the battle with fear is not over.
I look forward to the day I can click my heels and repeat ‘there’s no place like home’.
But I’m not there yet.
Welcome to Virtual Vermut – a time to relax and have a drink and a chat. At least I will be chatting and I hope you will join in but I won’t know what you’re saying unless you write in and tell me!
Tonight I am actually going to have a whisky – it’s a bit chilly here for a vermut and ice. Here is Blue guarding the bottle in front of the fire.
If I was sitting here with you I’d probably find it hard to get started. Lots has been going on this week and especially inside my head but I can’t put it into order. I wonder if this is a common experience for people who have moved to another country when they go back ‘home’?
Here is my ‘office’ the only place I can get onto the internet as my neighbour kindly lets me use hers when I am here.
The picture at the top of the stairs is too small. This one would be better…………………
Karen Wade painting
I saw it in an exhibition in Penzance. It’s by Karen Wade and she has her first solo exhibition in the Stoneman Gallery. I was reading Cornwall Today in the dentists waiting room and when I saw photos of these paintings and knew I must go and see them in real life. Only just resisted buying one – now is not the time for splashing out.
My head has been buzzing with plans. I want to move properly to Catalunya and this means I need to bring my dogs over, including 15 year old Blue. Before that happens I need to sort out my house and that could take a few months – you can’t tie up a life and home in just two weeks…..or I can’t.
While thinking, I have been getting out and about. The weather has been good so I went with a friend to see Surfing Tommies at the Minack theatre. Outside the ticket office there was a forest of echium
That night it was windy and wild with rain showers thankfully only lasting a few minutes. I enjoyed the performance but hit my boredom level at least half an hour before it finished.
But the place is so beautiful it’s easy to forgive almost anything
Bonnie likes to go walking and doesn’t get out so much now so I took her along the coastal path from Mousehole. For once she didn’t bark at the horses and they were too curious to be afraid of dogs
I’m not usually lost for words and really I wonder if you’d be better going to see Bodhi Chicklet straight away to see if she has any vermut or perhaps something stronger. I am boring myself. All I think about is lists of things to do and in what order to do them.
This visit I have spoken to two other friends who also have left to make lives in different countries. It’s not just me who finds it hard to get the right balance. Friendships are disrupted, people get miffed, if you have a home you come back to lots of tiddly but awkward maintenance jobs, a mound of mail with nasty surprises and not enough time to sort it all out. You need delicacy and tact when talking about your new life. Too much enthusiasm sounds like you are critisising the old; too much complaining sounds like you’re not grateful. Emotionally it is tiring – everything familiar but also strange. You are here but you are absent. People want to see you but sometimes, because they miss you, they behave strangely.
Sometimes animals are easier. Cats are especially relaxing. Dandelion – the best cat in the world.
Apart from all this I’d like to tell you that I have been thinking about my other home and about what is happening in Plaça Catalunya and feeling sad that these peaceful and creative protests almost always end up being violently disrupted. What is this force in the world that needs to be in control and is willing to hurt others in the process? Nothing on the TV news but plenty on the internet.
I’m wondering how my Catalan is doing, buried deep under a thick layer of English now. Hope it is just gathering strength for next week and will emerge stronger and more fluent.
And lastly – tomorrow – I will be watching the football. I wish I could be over there but at least I’ll be able to understand the commentary. Good luck Barça!
See you next week and thank you for listening.
