When Spanish people ask me what I like least about Spain I say the cold. They think I'm joking. I explain that in the UK it might be cold outside in winter, and dark, but that inside it would be nice and warm. It's not true of most of Spain but here in Alicante, where insulation is practically non existent, where tiles and ornamental stone are everywhere and where central heating is almost unknown then wearing outdoor clothing inside in Winter is common.
Each year, at the beginning of December I drag our Christmas lights out of storage and usually buy a few more to light the front of our house. I like the pagan idea of scaring away the winter's dark with light and Christmas is the time to do it. Inside we have a Belén, a nativity scene (not for any religious reason but because we live in Spain) and a tree. We bought our Christmas tree at Woolworth's in Huntingdon in 1997. It sheds each year. I've always argued that a returning artificial tree gives a certain continuity but I have to admit that it is now, officially, bald and has to be retired, replaced and discarded.
I was talking to one of my online Spanish chums about the tree and she said they'd had no decorations of any sort for Christmas. No tree, no lights and, given that most British households would now be the same, no cards either. Cards have never been a thing in Spain. Obviously Spanish people put up Christmas decorations. You see them but compare them to those films set in small town United States where everyone wears Santa hats and drinks eggnog as the Christmas tree lights are turned on or, indeed, the majority of British homes, then Spanish Christmas decorations are definitely an optional extra.
I like to go places. There's so much to do, so much to see. My partner isn't quite so convinced. This reticence on her part is not new. I remember she wasn't over enthusiastic about going to the Prickwillow Engine Museum even on a steam day, and that was last century. So, when she went to the UK for a few days, I went to see the Todoli Citrus Fundació groves in Palmera near Gandía. The Foundation has over 400 different varieties of citrus fruit. I thought it would be an interesting visit. The website said the tours were available in Valencian, Castilian and English. The bloke who took us round was a Valencian nationalist (someone who strongly identifies with their own nation and vigorously supports its interests, especially to the exclusion or detriment of the interests of other nations). He used some not so subtle tactics to gerrymander a result to prove that the group wanted the tour conducted in Valencian. I can understand Valencian, to a degree, but after straining to understand for a while I go into Homer Simpson mode and the birds soar freely in the emptied sky of my mind. It rather dampened my enthusiasm for the visit and my Google review was not kind.
I absolutely understand why people in Catalonia, the Balearic islands and the Valencian Community are keen to keep their language alive. That said I have never understood a pride in having been born in a certain place or having any other innate trait; can anyone be proud that they have brown eyes? I'm very happy that I was born British but only in a very selfish way because it means I've had health care and schooling and clean water all my life. I see why people are proud of the things they achieve but not in the product of happenstance. And the line is a very fine one between promoting something, like Valenciano, and purposefully excluding people.
And if it's not too late: Happy New Year
