I have been wandering around Andalucia for the past week or so trying to see if anywhere suits me as an escape route to a better world. It’s difficult to make any decisions on such short notice, and I am biased when it comes to looking at Spain as I have spent a large part of my life living here and travelling around. I used to speak Spanish relatively well, and at one stage I was the eyes and ears of an entire village back in the dark days when most country folk were illiterate. I brought the daily newspaper to life. I gave life to books which had been hoarded from the past, and treated with a puzzled but fierce respect. I remember what Spain was like after the dark days of the civil war. Very few Spaniards know Spain like I do, and that not only gives me an unrivalled knowledge base, but also gives me attitude. I cant pass that on for the simple reason other folk are not starting from that point.
I am writing this on a rooftop patio in the western suburbs of Jerez de la Frontera. I have spent the week taking my daughter around the various important points in my life in this part of the world. I look sadly at a modern bar where once I sat drinking manzanilla, and eating olives, while we watched an absurd football match on the tv. How many Spaniards will remember a cartoon character who bobbed about at the bottom of the screen making inane remarks about the appalling state of the play, and being surprised when anyone scored a goal from an impossible position? But what I treasure about that bar is sitting out the back on an upturned box in a chicken run, chatting with the barman, who liked to talk to his chickens while the bar ran itself. That was in Sanlucar de Barrameda.
I still have the presents he gave me when I said goodbye. That Spain still lives in my heart. That Spain is still there somewhere inside me and gives me a nudge when I find resonances of those far off days.
So here I am in the heart of sherry country (oops, I was told off this morning for not calling it Jerez). Those feelings of territory speak very loudly in the people I meet in Spain. It doesn’t pay to ask where you are. You should know you are in the most important part of Spain. To admit you dont know the name of the town where you are is equivalent to an insult to the natives. I quickly apologised and set things right.
But where was I?
I had pushed open a gate between high, windowless buildings, read the notice to visitors and spoken to someone on the phone from the secret recesses. A gate swung open, and I was ushered into the bowels of this great building. This is not one of the well-known sherry houses. This place is special; boutique may be the right word.
I have, of course, been here before. I know which gate to enter, and which phone call to make. Someone ushers me into the building. My daughter cant believe the rich fumes emanating from the room where we have been left. Around us are huge barrels containing amazing sherries that are sleeping while maturing, sometimes for twenty or more years.
I dont know the guy who comes to meet us, but last time I was here I met his brother. We talk earnestly about the wines. He is eager to show me special creations, and we chat about the new ideas, and the new wines. He shows me an interesting bottle, and we discuss when the next vinification will be ready to be bottled. He suggests I come back in November and he will give me one of the new bottles as a christmas present.
I buy three bottles of my favourite sherry (sorry, Jerez), and my new friend, another Juan, chats about the future, and we make arrangements for my next visit.
I carry a case of wine to the car, And move on to the next winery. But this is a famous house, and I buy some of their almacenistas. These are special wines made by one of the winemakers who thinks he can see an unusual potential in a particular cask. There is no personal repartee here.
The important thing is; this is what Jerez is all about. It is important to get inside those walls to see the soul of the city. If you dont know which doors to open you cant connect to the reality of the place.
We sit in the car outside my favourite restaurant waiting for it to open. I feel at home here. I feel like the prodigal come home to smiling faces.
That evening we wander around, joining in the general walkabouts which are the modern version of the evening paseo. It is very different from the paseos I took part in all those decades ago with the girls standing on their balconies while we made pompous and silly remarks from the street below.
I dont know what the rest of Spain is like, but everyone I have met here has been charming. I am surrounded by happy faces. Spain may be in a mess. The EU is certainly in a mess, but my new friends are enjoying life, and next time I am here I will make sure to renew the friendships I have made. But am I going to move here?
What I am finding is that living is relatively cheap, life is still lived at family level, and there is a charming cohesion all around me, which is not necessarily obvious in other countries. In short, I feel something I dont feel in other countries; I feel at home and comfortable as I join the people in the streets.
So where does this get me, or anybody else?
One of the things that repeatedly gets to me is the tediousness of the West. Most countries are like most other countries. What is worse is that Europe is full of people who have been tamed. They have been ordered to be responsible, careful, and utterly boring. And yes, their lives are excruciatingly boring, and I find I cant be natural, or muck about and enjoy myself.
I look back wistfully at my time in Nicaragua not all that long ago. I used to go to church every week because being there was a joyful occasion. We sang hymns, and during one hymn the organist stopped, the bells rang out, and everybody started hugging each other, shaking hands, and smiling. The general goodwill was overflowing, and it was delightful and valuable. Try getting that in an English church.
At least in Spain I can go to church for the Three Kings, and there is a similar chaos brimming with laughter, cheers and goodwill. Europe in general lacks chaos and goodwill. That means it is not for me. Society in Western Europe has been tamed and controlled. No thanks.
Another thing that is missing is that feeling of purpose and excitement about the future. In Western Europe we are resting from what once was the future, while the future is being embraced somewhere else.
The answer for me is to go somewhere else where that future is happening.
Unfortunately I do need to rethink the way I am going to support myself. At an age when I thought I would be settled, I am forced to re-construct my life around that important trinity. Where do I live? Where do I make my money? And where should I be domiciled? And of course, each one of that trinity should ideally be a different country.
As they say: To be continued…..
Is Spain the Place to be?