It’s mid Saturday morning and I am in the supermarket picking up some last minute bits for this evening’s barbecue.
The ranks of England’s faithful are filling their trolleys with
excellent bottles of “Comportillo” – red and white wine at €1.65 per
bottle - in anticipation of a joyous afternoon and evening. I have
spotted in the queues at each checkout, around ten customers deep,
perhaps twenty Three Lion shirts.
This afternoon it’s England v Paraguay.
These are not tourists in any usual sense. Largely this group will
comprise expats. Roughly this translates to mean very long-term
visitors or even those, like me, who has gone the whole hog and
obtained Residencia.
Spain is our new home but there are times when ancient tribalism takes hold.
The more we live here the more we love it.
We gravitate to shops such as “Mercadona”, an excellent supermarket
chain full of typically Spanish produce – or at least it was. I noticed
a stack of Heinz Baked Beans today for the first time…..
As luck would have it I can get some excellent morcillas, chorizos and
salchichas blancas – Spanish sausages - and nip to the English Butcher
along the street to top up on the Cumberland’s and the best back bacon.
Fast forward to the afternoon when I gather with my young son and a few
friends from the neighbourhood at a local Italian restaurant to eat
pizza and pasta watch England v Paraguay on a TV made in South Korea.
We struggle a bit to keep the bright Mediterranean sunshine off the
screen – the restaurant overlooks the beach.
After all the hype, including 30 plus of background in the Sun, €2 and
printed in Spain, but this Saturday, more importantly for my Son, it
contains a free beach ball in Saint George colours with “Come On
England” printed on it, the game starts. Like the spirit of ‘66 it lies
a little deflated by Sunday morning. There follows a dull display of
football punctuated in the 4th minute by an own goal to ease the
journey up the Group B table for England’s trophy hopes.
I guess we may watch future games.
Returning home I am congratulated by my Dutch neighbour pensive about
his teams first round clash with Serbia and Montenegro on Sunday
afternoon.
After trying to paint the railings outside our home, the paint
hardening on impact because of the heat, my Sunday afternoon is spent,
sitting on the edge of the sofa as the 20 year old tennis genius,
Rafael Nadal, took apart the Worlds No.1, Roger Federer, at Roland
Garros. Winning convincingly for the second time.
I cannot wait for Wimbledon.
20 years old….. He must have been presented with his precious Babolat racquet as he toddled clear of his pushchair.
The fact that this youngster hails from my newly adopted country allows
me to have a specific feeling of partiality when he holds high that
Silver rose bowl in Paris evening sun. Frankly, his performance was far
more exciting than England's team debut in Germany.
Whilst I was watching Rafa’s victory in France, Fernando Alonso romped
home to a 13-second victory at Silverstone in the British Grand Prix.
Are these successes just coincidence? I don’t really think so.
A number of my kids school friends, aged around 11 years old, are
already in full time tennis training whilst handling their school work
when its dark. I suspect two, an English girl and a Scot lass, will
bring future glory to their ancestral countries. Another boy has a
training contract with Manchester City and a fourth lad, like the
others pre-pubescence has attained a Carting racing championship of
Andalucia as he heads for the International Circuit.
The motivation for these youngsters, their training and opportunity is
substantially available by the shed load in this part of the World. The
out door life is the lifestyle.
I used to think that Nationalism was just about pride in your own
Nation. Whilst the expression “Nation” has caused great difficulty in
recent months because of the somewhat tense relationship between Spain
and the Catalan Region, its high time we all looked a little beyond our
political borders.
We do not need to deny our origins or give up all those things that
hail from “Home” – Marmite now in tubes is a clash of cultures but
essential non the less – but petty nationalism is the fuel of the Far
Right and I thought we had all grown out of that.
The founding fathers of the European Union envisaged a “melting pot” of
states where residents would be free to travel, live and work amongst
the other states in a seamless and macro sense of freedom.
Language is divisive, so it would ease things greatly for me and fellow
Mother tongue Anglo Saxons, if you would all kindly speak English. If
not we’ll try to meet you halfway and make some crashing verbal
abominations. At least we will try to “get by”.
The expression “Expat” envisages that you are somewhere and hail from
somewhere else. I don’t accept that you are incomplete without a
football team or national anthem to define you. I had a tear in my eye
when the Spanish flag was raised over Paris and young Nadal was clearly
very moved.
I agree that we will gravitate to those communities where comfort is
gained from familiarity. For example, I will always be a Chelsea fan.
However, it seems we are evolving. A recent report carried by on
expatica.com explained that the process of “time banking” allowed for
greater integration between the old and the newer populations of Spain
by bartering services - mutual back scratching leading to greater
appreciation and understanding of the other.
I really do hope my kids will happily grow up in Spain knowing that
their forebears hailed from the UK and Ireland, mainland Europe and
Brazil. What does that make them…I guess “New Spanish”. They will visit
and probably want to live in the UK, US or wherever the hell they wish.
In being raised in such a cosmopolitan environment they will be
equipped to relate to many more people from many more countries without
being constrained by the notion of a frontier.
© Mark FR Wilkins 2005 (Marbella)
Mark FR Wilkins
The Rights Group SL
mark@therightsgroup.com
www.therightsgroup.com
0034 600 343 917