Catalan

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It had a certain inevitability. The UK’s May Day bank holiday weekend beckoned, but after a surprisingly warm and sunny April what happened? A washout.

The bank holiday was supposed to see us picnicking in the local park, catching up with old friends, many of whom we hadn’t seen for years thanks to our expatriation. A chance for us to meet each other’s kids, reflect on how we’ve all changed in the seven years since we moved to Spain.

But the rain, whipped up by a north-east wind and chilled by 10°C temperatures, put paid to that. Time for Plan B. So we found ourselves splashing through puddles en route to a tenpin bowling alley in a desperate attempt to find some indoor activity to keep the children entertained.

The usual British holiday routine, in other words. Welcome home!

Mind you, it’s no better in the corner of Spain where we used to live. From the Catalan meteorological bureau I see much of the Pyrenean region is being layered in fresh dumps of snow at the moment. And the Costa Bravan coast – normally basking in warm Mediterranean sunshine by now – is stuck with maximum temperatures of just 13°C, while being pummelled by rain and the fierce northerly wind known as the tramuntana.

Seems the cold winter so many parts of the world experienced this year just doesn’t want to let go. What will summer bring, I wonder?

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I have just had my first Thai meal in seven years. Ahh, it’s good to be back in England!

I’ve adored Thai food ever since I spent a couple of months travelling around that beautiful land nearly 20 years ago. Of course, nothing can compare with the variety and richness of flavours you get in the country itself. But I have managed to find some pretty good substitutes among the multitude of Thai restaurants that have been set up around Britain.

So finding ourselves without a Thai restaurant – good or bad – in the corner of Spain to which we moved seven years ago was a big disappointment.

Even more disappointing, there was a dearth of “international cuisine” of pretty much any description. Our town boasted two Chinese restaurants, several pizzerias and some good Catalan-themed places. But that was it.

Don’t get me wrong, Spanish food is great. And being able to buy locally-caught fish from the shop around the corner, or stock up on fresh vegetables from the town square market is a treat. But there was always that hankering for variety.

Even cooking our favourite dishes at home proved tricky. The local supermarkets offered some ingredients for Mexican food and a few jars of ready-made curry sauces, but they are pricey in the extreme. The range of jarred spices available is limited, fresh ones almost non-existent. Even getting fresh coriander proved nigh-on impossible.

By contrast, Britain’s imperial past, and the country’s multi-ethnic diversity that has resulted, means practically every city, town and village offers an array of restaurants and takeaways, while the supermarket shelves are piled high with foodstuffs from all corners of the world. In New York, where we lived for a year at the turn of the millennium, the choice was even more abundant.

Britain is certainly not all great. Still, at least my taste buds are enjoying it.

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At last, the European Championships have got under way. Of course, as an English football fan it is with a tinge of regret … I’m still wondering how England didn’t manage to qualify! Still, this is no time for harping on about past disappointments.

 

Instead, I shall be focusing on the fortunes of my adopted country, Spain. I’ve put money on Spain in major football tournaments and been disappointed too many times in the past to get carried away. All the Spaniards I’ve spoken to seem to feel the same way, recognising their team as the perennial underachievers.

 

Still, the eternal optimist inside me can’t help but wonder if this year may really be the one. Many of Britain’s football pundits seem to think so too.

 

Individual talent has never been in question. It’s that cohesiveness as a unit that lets them down … and the reason why Germany always seem to do so well, even when they have a dearth of individual brilliance.

 

So is the Spaniards’ failing down to a lack of organisation, of belief? Quite possibly. It’s certainly something the German team never seem to be in short supply of.

 

Commitment? Maybe that too. There were reports in years gone by of severe divisions and antagonism in the Spanish camp, particularly between the Real Madrid and Barcelona players, who carry the burden of their great team rivalry and its political backdrop.

 

I read not long ago that FC Barcelona defender Oleguer Presas, a radical Catalan nationalist, didn’t want to play for the Spanish national squad and only agreed to join up with them when invited in 2005 because of pressure from the Barça president and the threat of not being able to play for his club. Can you imagine an English player being so antipathetic to representing his country?

 

And it is a not uncommon attitude among the wider Catalan population, many of whom refuse to cheer the Spanish national side. Centuries of centralist “repression” have left their mark!

 

Hopefully there is more unity and more belief in the Spanish squad this year though. And I, for one, will be cheering them on to the final.

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