Catalunya

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Bullfighting divides opinion, even in its Spanish heartland. Some see it as a majestic cultural tradition that pays homage to the courage and skill of both man and mighty beast. Others regard it as unacceptable animal cruelty.

In Spain, bullfighting evokes a bygone era, a traditionalist view of the country – for either right or wrong.

But now Catalunya – that independent-minded region in the north-east of the peninsula – has broken ranks and banned it (although it won’t take effect until January 2012).

The Canary Islands had banned bullfighting way back in 1991, but given the lack of fights that took place there anyway the move was of limited impact nationwide. Catalunya, by contrast, is a much bigger and more culturally, politically and economically important region.

So is this a major step towards the wholesale end of bullfighting in Spain? Or just another example of Catalunya’s gradual cleaving from the rest of the country, an expression of its separate identity and autonomy?

A bit of both, I think.

Bullfighting is a minority interest among the general public in any case, and particularly among the younger generation. Unless they suddenly get a taste for it in later life, that decline will only continue.

Meanwhile, Spanish state TV’s decision to stop live bullfight coverage back in 2007 is one indication of how opinions are changing. Catalunya’s decision may then serve to mobilise nationwide opposition further.

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Golf, I’ve discovered, is not like riding a bike. Picking up a club for the first time in five years and expecting to smash ball after ball down the middle of the fairway was always going to be wishful thinking. I mean, if Tiger struggles with his game after months out what hope did I have?

At least the conditions were perfect. It was one of those glorious English summer evenings: the warm sun dipping towards the horizon, soft June light, shadows lengthening across the rolling green fairways, woodpigeons calling from the branches … the thwack of small white golf balls clattering into yet another copse of trees.

And, quality of play aside, it was great to get out last night for a hack round with my brothers, the first time we’d done it since before I moved to Spain seven years ago.

In fact, the last time I played was with my eldest brother, when he came to visit shortly after we moved abroad. On that occasion we tried out the Empordà Golf Resort, one of a string of top-notch courses to be found close to our home on the Costa Brava. Unfortunately, that was as far as my Spanish golf career got. Places like PGA Catalunya, which is ranked number seven in Golf World magazine’s Top 100 European courses, remain an unfulfilled dream.

For despite the fantastic facilities and ideal weather in Spain, time was always a problem.

The expat lifestyle may seem to be one of leisurely days spent drinking wine and soaking up the sun, but that isn’t the reality for most. I still had to work hard all week. And with two young daughters to look after it never seemed fair for me to slope off for five hours on the weekend to play, especially when we had no other family around to ease my wife’s childcare load.

As a result, it’s taken our repatriation to the UK for me to be able to dust off the clubs. That, and the chance to spend valuable time with my brothers, are among the plus points of moving back. If only I could have brought some of those magnificent courses with me.

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We went shopping in the local mall over the weekend, trying to sort some final presents before Christmas creeps up on us. The decorations have been up everywhere for a good month already in our corner of Spain, the trees decorated, baubles glinting in the fairy lights, tinsel sparkling, Santa Claus figures dangling from the ceilings. It’s almost like being in the States, or back in the UK.

 

Yet Catalunya has its idiosyncratic traditions too. One – less common in Barcelona but found across the rest of the region, especially in rural areas – is tió de Nadal (the Christmas log).

 

They can be bought in various sizes, but essentially it is a hollow tree log, commonly raised on one end by short stick legs, and with a painted face and stuck-on nose on the front (I know, but bear with me on this). The tió is ‘fed’ every night in the run up to Christmas, and then on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, depending on your preference, it is beaten with a stick to a special accompanying song and ordered to poo out its treats of sweets or nuts and the like.

 

It may sound somewhat bizarre, but is – or so I am told by the teachers at my daughter’s school – magical for the children.

 

Meanwhile, across Spain the big present-giving celebration is not December 25 as in North America and some other parts of Europe, but Epiphany (January 6). For this is the day when the Three Kings (los Reyes) came to see Jesus in the stable, bringing their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.

 

Nevertheless, Santa Claus and Christmas Day gifts are slowly encroaching into the Spanish calendar – the power, I guess, of Disney and Coca Cola!

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All is not well here in Catalunya. Around town I see the same long faces, the disconsolate shakes of the head. “What went wrong?” you can see the men asking. Yep, a 1-0 defeat at Old Trafford means FC Barcelona are out of the Champions’ League, and with it goes their last hope of winning a trophy this season. Depressing times for the Barca faithful.

 

Still, at least Spring appears to have finally sprung.

 

It’s been a decidedly mixed start to the season here in the north-east of Spain. Short periods of warmth, when you get ready to crack open the summer wardrobe, followed by days of high winds and rain. For much of April it has been colder than it was in January and February. My three-year old daughter even saw her first hailstorm last week.  

 

Yet at last we are bathed in sunshine. The wind has dropped to a light sea breeze, and the mercury is rising into the mid-20s centigrade. My favourite season has (fingers crossed) arrived.

 

It is a wondrous time of year in our little corner of the world. Flowers explode from the hedgerows, the apple trees in the surrounding orchards are covered in pink and white blossoms, and the Mediterranean sparkles a translucent turquoise under the strengthening sun.

 

Unfortunately, it’s not such a joy for everyone. The guy who brings our weekly delivery of organic fruit and vegetables arrived yesterday looking thoroughly miserable. He pointed to the trees. “Pollen allergy,” he told me. And he’ll suffer with it, he said, for the next two months.

 

Ever since moving to Spain five years ago my wife has suffered the same. She never had a problem in England. But the change in climate and environment seems to have been the trigger. Like me, Spring was always her favourite season. Not any more. Now it is purgatory, a torment of continual sneezing, itchy eyes and nose, and sleepless nights. Three months that simply have to be endured, days and weeks wished away.

 

At least there’s the prospect of hot summer days on the beach to look forward to though …  

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So, this is my first post of a new blog that will offer up some (hopefully) useful thoughts and tips on the ups and downs of living abroad. And what a day to start with the invasion of the Red Devils to my Spanish neck of the woods!

Promises to be a cracking tie between two of the most entertaining teams in the world, and with arguably two of the world’s best attacking players in Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi. Barca haven’t been firing on all cylinders this season, and have had a poor run of form lately, but remain dangerous opponents. As for the Man Utd, they have been sublime at times this season (much as it pains me to say it as a Hammers fan!).

But who to support? Man U for a guaranteed English winner of this season’s Champions’ League? Or the local heroes?

Having been a resident of Catalunya for the last five years I know how much FC Barcelona means to the Catalans – this isn’t just a football team, it’s a symbol of their way of life. And now they’re out of the domestic race, thwarted once again by their arch-enemies Real Madrid, the Barca faithful will be desperate to win tonight and set up that dream final place. Yep, got to deny the English patriotism and root for my adopted home team. Come on the Barca!

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