Costa Brava

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A recent holiday in Spain – the first trip back to our house on the northern Costa Brava since repatriating to the UK last Christmas – reminded me of all the good things about our former life in the sun.

And the drive home from the airport after we landed back in the UK, with the rain greasing the congested motorway, showed the stark contrast with the world we had left behind.

Since our return friends and work colleagues have been asking the same question: do we regret moving back to England?

Of course, we miss some of the lifestyle benefits Spain offers. After all, the UK is by no means perfect. Nevertheless, on balance we are happy we repatriated.

So what are the good things about living back in the UK? For me, the key ones are:

  • Social Network

The number one advantage is being back among family and old friends, renewing those old, precious relationships.

  • Familiar Culture

There is an ease to living in a place where you understand the societal attitudes, the sense of humour, and how the systems involved in day-to-day life work. Being able to think and speak in your native tongue once again is nice too.

  • Britain’s Beauty

We have now been through all the seasons, and while the UK’s weather may not be wonderful (I’m writing this with the rain lashing outside), each reveals some special aspect of the country’s beauty.

In the months since our return we have also taken the chance to explore more of the country, and see the charm that attracts so many foreign visitors: the wonders of London, the nation’s majestic stately homes, its quaint villages and verdant countryside.

It is not always easy to see how great Great Britain is when you are brought up with it and long to escape. Instead, sometimes you have to leave to come back again.

As Irish novelist George Moore said: “A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it.”

That is just how I am feeling … at least for the moment!

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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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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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