This post was written a few days ago, before all the stuff about Tarragona, but I've only just found the wifi to post it!
We crossed the post-Shengen non-event border late yesterday evening, but unlike other unremarkable EU border crossings, this one had a distinction air of ambiguity around it. What country exactly were we crossing into? The blue and yellow signs said Espana, but the past few days' news seemed to suggest something more poorly defined.
Our Airbnb this time is a fabulous 15th Century farmhouse in the middle of what, to untrained eyes, seems like the complete middle of nowhere. Although this impression has been somewhat undermined this morning by the noisy, joyous and entirely international sound of a neighbouring primary school, so there's clearly life out there in the forest somewhere.
But from this verandah at least, civilisation is a distant light on the horizon, and as far as I can see it's dense forest right the way down into the valley. The weather finally feels mediterranean: it was freezing cold last night, but today has that kind of air where you know it's not just the full sunshine that's keeping you warm, but something more inherent in the atmosphere.
A leisurely breakfast (Airbnb still has a bnb concept here!) was followed by my first experience up-close and personal with a Catalan separatist, in the person of our genial and mildly eccentric host. He taught me how to pronounce the name Puigdemont (although I can't spell it, I now know it's supposed to be "pooj-duh-mon") and proceeded to give M and me a full lowdown on the Catalan situation as viewed from a life-long Geronan, adolescent experiencer of the brutality of Franco, and persistant independence voter.
We started with "the Frenchies" (his term, not mine this time) and their attempts to form a buffer state between them and the Arabs who ruled Spain at the time. (I'm not sure exactly where this put us on the historical timeline, but I'm pretty sure it's a fair way back.) The vibe seems to have been "let's give these mongrels independence, and then they can fight the Arabs on our behalf."
We then fast-forwarded to 1746 (approx: I can't remember) when the Catalans "chose the wrong side" in the fight between the French under Louis XIV and the Austrians. The Catalans chose Austria, Louis came out on top and, for reasons I couldn't get our host to explain, this led to Catalonia being transferred to the Spanish, where it remains, variously welcomed, banned, accepted and repressed to this very day.
Pooj-duh-mon, in fleeing to Brussels before the men from Madrid came for him, has forced the conflict to become international, our host told us. Eight local politicians being sent to jail for 30 years would hardly register on the world press's radar, he said, but by forcing the EU to make a decision about whether it wanted to send a man back to face what are, by anyone's reckoning, charges of a political crime, makes the situation a lot more juicy for those looking for story in all the chaos. Rebellion, the name of Pooj-duh-mon's alleged crime, is not a political charge but rather an inherently violent one. The law is designed for situations of attempted military coup and includes, according to our host, an inherent element of armed violence on the part of the perpetrator. When I then asked him if that didn't mean that the charges were bound to fail, he told me that a person can be incarcerated for four years, "two plus two" as he gleefully described it, without any charge being brought. Apparently the prosecutors have two years to prepare their case, unless they haven't managed within that time, in which case they have another two years. Our host deemed that the four years Catalonia's leaders could spend in prison will be enough to punish the Catalan people and to disperse efforts at independence without even having to even attempt to try the absurdly jumped-up charges.
When I ask him what outcome from the current turmoil the die-hard independence warrior could really hope for, he said that the movement wants only two things: proper civic respect for the Catalan language, a wish it's pretty to sympathise with and unite around, and to send less taxes to the "lazy" peoples of Southern Spain who have for too long now been "rubbing their bellies" growing fat on the industrial money of the Catalans, a wish which gives the liberal left-wing idealist a moment's reflection before he can full-throatedly join the call for change. It's an odd mixture of leftish ideas of localism and respect for cultures, and a fairly unpleasant "xenophobia" and classism against the rest of the Spanish.
As for the future of the region, according to our host, the dream outcome of all this current mess depends on the age of the person you ask. Young people are gung ho for independence, older people still have memories of what the Spanish police are capable of. When M mentioned that the Police had already shown themselves to be capable of brutality, our host dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "What happened during the referendum was mere child's play. We who experienced the Franco regime know what might really lie in store for us." A chilling thought for a warm breezy afternoon.
We crossed the post-Shengen non-event border late yesterday evening, but unlike other unremarkable EU border crossings, this one had a distinction air of ambiguity around it. What country exactly were we crossing into? The blue and yellow signs said Espana, but the past few days' news seemed to suggest something more poorly defined.
Our Airbnb this time is a fabulous 15th Century farmhouse in the middle of what, to untrained eyes, seems like the complete middle of nowhere. Although this impression has been somewhat undermined this morning by the noisy, joyous and entirely international sound of a neighbouring primary school, so there's clearly life out there in the forest somewhere.
But from this verandah at least, civilisation is a distant light on the horizon, and as far as I can see it's dense forest right the way down into the valley. The weather finally feels mediterranean: it was freezing cold last night, but today has that kind of air where you know it's not just the full sunshine that's keeping you warm, but something more inherent in the atmosphere.
A leisurely breakfast (Airbnb still has a bnb concept here!) was followed by my first experience up-close and personal with a Catalan separatist, in the person of our genial and mildly eccentric host. He taught me how to pronounce the name Puigdemont (although I can't spell it, I now know it's supposed to be "pooj-duh-mon") and proceeded to give M and me a full lowdown on the Catalan situation as viewed from a life-long Geronan, adolescent experiencer of the brutality of Franco, and persistant independence voter.
We started with "the Frenchies" (his term, not mine this time) and their attempts to form a buffer state between them and the Arabs who ruled Spain at the time. (I'm not sure exactly where this put us on the historical timeline, but I'm pretty sure it's a fair way back.) The vibe seems to have been "let's give these mongrels independence, and then they can fight the Arabs on our behalf."
We then fast-forwarded to 1746 (approx: I can't remember) when the Catalans "chose the wrong side" in the fight between the French under Louis XIV and the Austrians. The Catalans chose Austria, Louis came out on top and, for reasons I couldn't get our host to explain, this led to Catalonia being transferred to the Spanish, where it remains, variously welcomed, banned, accepted and repressed to this very day.
Pooj-duh-mon, in fleeing to Brussels before the men from Madrid came for him, has forced the conflict to become international, our host told us. Eight local politicians being sent to jail for 30 years would hardly register on the world press's radar, he said, but by forcing the EU to make a decision about whether it wanted to send a man back to face what are, by anyone's reckoning, charges of a political crime, makes the situation a lot more juicy for those looking for story in all the chaos. Rebellion, the name of Pooj-duh-mon's alleged crime, is not a political charge but rather an inherently violent one. The law is designed for situations of attempted military coup and includes, according to our host, an inherent element of armed violence on the part of the perpetrator. When I then asked him if that didn't mean that the charges were bound to fail, he told me that a person can be incarcerated for four years, "two plus two" as he gleefully described it, without any charge being brought. Apparently the prosecutors have two years to prepare their case, unless they haven't managed within that time, in which case they have another two years. Our host deemed that the four years Catalonia's leaders could spend in prison will be enough to punish the Catalan people and to disperse efforts at independence without even having to even attempt to try the absurdly jumped-up charges.
When I ask him what outcome from the current turmoil the die-hard independence warrior could really hope for, he said that the movement wants only two things: proper civic respect for the Catalan language, a wish it's pretty to sympathise with and unite around, and to send less taxes to the "lazy" peoples of Southern Spain who have for too long now been "rubbing their bellies" growing fat on the industrial money of the Catalans, a wish which gives the liberal left-wing idealist a moment's reflection before he can full-throatedly join the call for change. It's an odd mixture of leftish ideas of localism and respect for cultures, and a fairly unpleasant "xenophobia" and classism against the rest of the Spanish.
As for the future of the region, according to our host, the dream outcome of all this current mess depends on the age of the person you ask. Young people are gung ho for independence, older people still have memories of what the Spanish police are capable of. When M mentioned that the Police had already shown themselves to be capable of brutality, our host dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "What happened during the referendum was mere child's play. We who experienced the Franco regime know what might really lie in store for us." A chilling thought for a warm breezy afternoon.
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