Ara és l'hora

Spain is in a bad way. Its economic woes show no sign of abating, tales of corruption among politicians and the royals feature every day on the news and Madrid has lost its bid to host the Olympics again. So Catalunya's calls for independence from its rotten oppressor grow ever stronger.

La Diada - the Catalan national day on 11 September - traditionally features some sort of action calling for independence. Last year there was a demonstration of 1.5m people in Barcelona. But this year, as the relationship between the Catalans and the Spanish soured further, the Catalans really wanted to hit the headlines. The Assemblia Nacional Catalana (or here's a link to it in English) planned a 400km human chain, the 'Via Catalana', from the north to the south of the province. The idea was inspired by a similar movement by Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania in 1989 in a peaceful call to be freed from the Soviet Union (see VilaWeb for more detail).

There are many arguments that Catalan separatists put forward as reasons why they should be a separate state from Spain and one of them is that a Catalan government would be a sleek, cost-effective, corruption-less, well organised machine - in stark contrast to the current Spanish administration.

(There's a beautiful film by The Guardian about why one Catalan family believes in independence. See here.)

And, as if to prove this point, the Via Catalana was a triumph of planning and logistics. Dossiers of instructions were doled out to thoussands of volunteer organisers for weeks in advance. People sat for hours in bars discussing and plotting. Meetings were held. Practice-runs took place. Backup plans were made.

On 11 September, our little village was swamped with enthusiastic chain-formers. Coachloads came down from the mountains and out of the cities. The N340 was, for one glorious afternoon free of thundering lorries, while thousands upon thousands of people stood for several hours in the sun, wearing yellow t-shirts and waving the Estelada flags of the independence movement. The most organised brought fold-up chairs and coolboxes.

At 17:14 (to symbolise the year 1714 when Catalunya finally lost its independence) the church bells rang, everyone linked hands and cheered.

After that they stood around for a while having their photos taken, did some Mexican waves and sang the national anthem a few times. Then they all wandered back into the village for a drink.

Reports later that day said that somewhere between 400,000 and 1.5m people took part. The chain reached from the Pyrenees in the north right into Valencia beyond Catalunya's southern border. The organisers hailed it as a success.

In one of the packed village bars that evening the television was on. It showed an interview with Spain's deputy prime minister Soraya Saenza Santamaria. She said that a large 'silent majority' didn't come out to join the chain and that it was the government's obligation to listen to them too. She was drowned out by cries of "puta" from the drinkers.

"Madrid is trying to pretend this didn't happen," said the bar owner. "But it's been a great day. A really great day!"

Foraging and farming: food from the land

After a wet spring the land around our little house is lush and green. My husband David (the Spanish Gardener) is busy strimming and tidying for his clients, scything his way through knee-high vegetation. And we're looking forward to growing and gathering what we can from the land this summer.

Here's what we learned last from last year's successes and failures.

Wild asaparagus
Long, green spears of wild asparagus pushed up after the April rains in 2012: they are delicious fried quickly in a little olive oil and sprinkled with salt. See this post.

Apricots
We didn't really grow the apricots; they grew themselves on the little tree in front of our house. We got enough in early June to make several jars of not-too-sweet golden jam.

Apricot blossom

Nisperos
There are a couple of trees nearby from which we scrumped nisperos (also called loquats). You peel back the vibrant orange skin to find a juicy sweet fruit, sometimes with a touch of sharpness. In the centre is a large, glossy brown stone. They probably would have made a good, spicy chutney but I didn't get round to it.

Cherries
A tree on the corner of our land was covered in cherry blossom in the spring and I watched and waited for the fruit to grow and ripen. Then, all of a sudden, it disappeared - the birds had got it before we had a chance. So we bought bagfuls of cherries from market stalls in the village.

Pimientos de padrón
These are delicious picked while green, fried fiercely in olive oil until they blister and blacken, then served immediately, sprinkled with coarse, crunchy sea salt. Most taste green and fruity, but the occasional one is fiery hot. Well, that's the theory. Ours are all - every single one of them - super spicy.

So we've given up eating them in the traditional way - it's just too painful. We've roasted some in the oven and stored them in a jar covered in olive oil. These will be good on pizzas. The rest we're using as fresh chillis in curries and Mexican dishes.

Serrano chillis
We're still using up the free packs of seeds we picked up in Wahaca in London a couple of years ago. They were slow to germinate in 2012's late spring which had some cool nights, but in late summer they started to fruit and then turned red in the autumn sun.

Tomatoes
While it's true that we can buy delicious and cheap tomatoes in the village, we couldn't resist growing some of our own, so we decided to go for cherry tomatoes, which are expensive to buy. We had a bit of a slow start - May was chilly and the seeds didn't germinate until well into the month. However, the summer sun really got the plants going and the fruits were ripening by early August. A sun-warmed, sweet tomato straight off the vine is a lovely thing and we thoroughly enjoyed our harvest.

Of course, there was a glut so I dried some in the sunshine with some stalks of rosemary spread out on a baking tray (it took a couple of days) and then put them into a jar covered in olive oil. The rest I roasted in the oven and made into soup. But cherry toms aren't as good as big tomatoes for this - you get too many seeds. This year, we've got some seeds for some more unusual varieties to experiment with.

Figs
The tree on our driveway produced a steady crop of small green figs over about six weeks from mid-August. I'd been warned that some figs have a little white worm inside, so we cut each one in half and examined carefully before eating. Figs are very rich and some people prefer them cooked or dried. I dried a good batch in the sun over a couple of days, keeping them safe from flies under one of those Women's Institute-style muslin umbrellas. And I included some more in a compote with some peaches, apples, cinnamon and sugar. This worked well with yogurt for summer breakfasts.

Fig chutney in progress

Grapes
There's a small grapevine that grows up a west-facing wall of our house. It produced lots of black grapes in August with no attention other than a bit of pruning and pinning up earlier in the year.

Cucumbers
We grew several plants from seed, but only got a couple of fruits before they succumbed to powdery mildew.

Melon
I'd saved some seeds from a variety of small melon we'd grown successfully in London. The plants grew and began to fruit, but the mildew got these too.

Herbs
Basil thrived in the Mediterranean sun. Parsley too. Oregano is doing so well that it's gradually taking over my little herb garden, although the species I've got (I don't know which) doesn't have a very pronounced taste. A few different types of mint seem pretty failsafe and new stalks have been popping up happily over the past couple of months. Coriander (very frustratingly as it's a herb that we can't buy easily here - I miss our Cypriot delis of north London which sell enormous fragrant bunches for 75p) rushes to seed every time I try.

And so the new growing season has started -we're looking forward to seeing what comes up.

To grow fruit and veg or not...?

We've just completed our second summer in Catalunya and we're getting used to the differences between our vast, terraced, sun-beaten plot here and the small north-facing back garden we had in London.

In spite of the chill, rain and gloom in London, we managed to grow a lot of produce outside our little ground floor flat - tomatoes, courgettes, chillis, basil, rocket, beans, cucumbers - even mini-melons. It took a lot of commitment, a drip watering system and a greenhouse, but we loved doing it - and eating the results (pics below).

I also became an expert in cooking and preserving damsons; we had three trees in the garden and one overhanging it (they were there before we moved in and we couldn't bear to destroy them). Each year we rushed to pick the kilos and kilos of hazy purple fruit before the wasps moved in to suck them dry. We had damson chutney (I've just started my last jar from 2010, and it's dark and rich and delicious), jam (not as successful), flavoured vodka (just damson, and a Christmas-themed one with raisins, cinnamon, allspice and ginger), crumble, sorbet, etc, etc.

When we moved here, we dreamed about how easy it would be to grow all the Mediterranean fruit and veg that taste so much better sun-warmed and plucked straight off the plant. But if you take a rational approach, there's a balancing act to be struck. We can get cheap, fresh and delicious fruit and veg from the groceries in the village, as well as from the little old ladies who, for a few summer months, open their garage doors and sell figs, tomatoes and peppers grown on their own plots. At the same time, we don't have mains water, which means that there's a significant cost to be borne in keeping everything hydrated during the dry summer (and sometimes, spring, autumn and winter) months. 

So last summer, as we'd just moved in, we didn't grow much - just a few tomato plants that the previous owner kindly left, some chillis and some basil in a pot. We had a lovely harvest of figs from the tree on the drive too. You can read about last year's harvest here.

Early this year, though, my (I won't call them green) fingers were itching to get started on some planting. I'm the most impatient gardener - I get frustrated if the seeds haven't germinated within 24 hours - but still I love it. I spend most working days indoors, on a hard chair typing away at my computer and it's wonderful at 7 o'clock to turn off the machine, stretch, pour a glass of cold white wine and go outside to soak up some warm sun and potter around with some seedlings and some soil.

More soon on our mixed successes with this year's fruit and veg.

Santa Tecla: La Diada Castellera

Tarragona's Santa Tecla festival is underway and we visited on Sunday 16 September to see the first day of the Castellera - the human castles.

Groups competed to see who could build the highest human towers of different formations. There is always a good, strong base of dozens of the biggest, toughest men, their waists reinforced with an enormously long, black sash that's wound round and round. These men form a giant, circular rugby scrum.

On top of their shoulders climb a group of about 12 slightly smaller men to form the next level. Then up and up they go - each new group shinning up the backs of the others - until we reach six, seven and eight levels. The penultimate level is of delicate teenage girls, wobbling as their ankles are firmly gripped by the men below them.

And finally a tiny child topped with an enormous crash helmet - a boy or a girl of no more than six or seven years old - climbs as fast as they can up the tottering tower to stand and raise their fist at the pinnacle.

Occasionally, they all crash down, but the mass of humanity below seems to cushion the impact.

This was the winning team with their single pillar, five people tall.

Forest fire devastation

The change of wind direction yesterday meant that we could sleep last night without fearing that the fire was advancing towards us - what a relief for us, but many other people would have been worrying about their homes and land.

We woke this morning to news that the fire had taken 3,000 hectares, but as the day went on the drizzle continued, the planes and helicopters continued dropping water, and there were no more headlines about rising winds, further devastation or evacuations.

This afternoon our friends who'd fled their home on Tuesday night returned to find their house miraculously untouched by the flames which had scorched leaves on the trees right outside the front door. Their cats emerged from the devastated forest unpeturbed.

Then this evening came an announcement that the fire is pretty much under control.

This is great news, but look at the devastation...

Cherry trees survived while the hillside burned
just a few feet behind

Scorched leaves but the olive tree is ok

Charred pines

Swathes of green are now black
(helicopter in the distance)

Wooden furniture survived although vegetation burned underneath

The fire came within inches
of our friends' house

A helicopter flies over blackened hillsides
dropping water where the fire is still active

Forest fire update

It's nearly 9pm now and the fire has taken 1,800 hectares. Reports say the smoke cloud has reached Mallorca. We've had a stressful day watching and waiting, but now the wind has dropped and is blowing in the opposite direction to our house so it doesn't look nearly as frightening as it did.

The planes are going back and forth over our house to the sea to fill up with water and back to the fire. Let's hope they conquer it soon.

This morning: wind blowing smoke and ash over our house.
We feared the fire was advancing our way

In the middle of the day the wind begins to change direction

The wind is now coming from the east

The fire engulfs the mountain

Flames break out all over the cliff face

At last the sea planes begin work

Forest fire

There's a fire ripping through hundreds of hectares of forest in the valley on the other side of the hills from us. Right now the mistral is sweeping smoke over our house, the sun is casting a curious orange light and flecks of grey ash are swirling and falling around us.

The fire began yesterday lunchtime. News reports said about 25 hectares were affected, it was being dealt with and there was no risk to the population. One report said someone had been arrested for starting the blaze. Twitterers joked about Rasquera's planned cannabis plantation going up in smoke.

Then as darkness fell, the wind whipped up. Suddenly 100 hectares were consumed. The firefighters complained that the terrain was tricky and the gusts of wind were fuelling the fire. The news report about the arrest was redacted; it said instead that only a witness statement had been taken. There was no moonlight, so in the pitch black night we walked to the top of our drive and saw the orange glow of the flames in the distance. We could hear a roar and wondered if it was the wind or the fire.

Instead of sleeping we searched for news on the internet. Our friends in the valley fled their house taking their three dogs and their most valuable possessions - their daughter in the village updated us on Facebook. They believed they were leaving their home to burn. I copied and pasted Catalan news reports into Google Translate: 500 hectares were affected, they said, and 20 people evacuated from their homes.

By 4am we could do nothing but drop off to sleep. Now we've just learned our friends' house was spared - the fire has left a lunar landscape all around, but the building is unharmed. The wind is still blowing though and every new statement says more forest has been lost - the latest from the Agents Rurals say 900 hectares have gone.

Twitter: #Rasquera
http://www.tv3.cat/

And the unairbrushed version...

I've just realised that the last few posts about wild asparagus, fresh eggs and calçots may well give the impression that we're living some sort of soft-focus, idle, gourmet existence in the sunshine.

We are, sort of, and it's very, very lovely, but real life isn't ever quite as we portray it to other people, is it?

Perhaps one of the reasons that so many people suffer from anxiety and depression is because it seems to them as though their lives are never as perfect as everyone else's. The media fuel this by filling magazines with 'aspirational' articles featuring beautiful people with impossibly wonderful lifestyles, and TV sitcoms starring 'ordinary' families are filmed in unfathomably huge London terraces. Although I'm a journalist, I could never bring myself to generate this kind of soft-focus copy, which is probably why I tended to end up going to sink-estates to interview asylum seekers rather than hob nob with the celebs on the red carpet.

Now that I'm living a lovelier life perhaps it's begun to knock the sharp edges off my storytelling.

So, to rebalance the last few posts, you might like to know about the Week of the Sick Puppy. Koko (now seven months old and energetically fulfilling the puppy manual's entire list of what adolescent dogs might do to test your sanity) started the week with a wild chewing frenzy. She tore the stuffing out of her bed, chomped her way through a couple of socks before pinching the washing up sponge and consuming that. Goodness knows what else she put in her mouth because the next day she was very sick indeed, many times, until there was nothing left in her stomach.

The sick kept coming though, she was retching and retching and bringing up nothing but stretchy yellow bile. She wouldn't touch food, and barely drank any water. Her usual bounce disappeared, the naughty glint left her eyes and her ears began to point down.

We feared fatal poisoning from one of the let's-just-put-it-in-my-mouth-and-see-what-it's-like adventures. We know too many people who've had dogs die after picking up something nasty the hunters left behind so we took her to the vet; then took her again two days later when she seemed to be getting even worse (a v costly exercise indeed).

There, you don't get dog sick in many glossy mags, do you?

She's better now - back to eating everything, particularly other animals' poo.

Wild asparagus

The April showers (well, torrential rain and hailstorms) mean that what was once hard bare ground is now lush with bright green shoots of new growth.

Impending rain

Hailstorm, 14 April

Icy cactus

The brambles are once again making their prickly way over the garden, but the terraces that we've not yet tidied up are full of the bright colours of wild flowers - purple thistles, yellow cotton lavender, and lots of plants - pink, red and orange - that I haven't yet identified.

Best of all, there's wild asparagus. 

When we arrived in Catalunya in March last year we often spotted people walking slowly by the side of the road with big handfuls of long, slender spears. I looked out for it too, but never succeeded. After a few weeks of determined effort though this year I've got my asparagus eye trained.

It is much more slender than the asparagus in the shops, often very dark green, and, when it gets overgrown, all those little buds on the sides shoot out to become prickly branches.

Wild asparagus

After 10 minutes of foraging

I fry it quickly in a little olive oil and some salt. With a little bread it's a good starter. It tastes smokier than cultivated asparagus and somehow a little more green.

There's also wild garlic springing up now, hard green apricots and almonds are already on the trees, and the cherries are definitely on their way.

Little green hands: the first fig leaves in early April

End of the calçot season

Calçots are delicious: try them if you get the chance.

They are a giant Catalan spring onion which are cooked until black in the flames of olive prunings, then wrapped in newspaper for a while to continue cooking in their own steam. When you can wait no longer, you unwrap, burn your fingers while peeling off the charcoaly outer layers, dip in salbitxada sauce (ground almonds, tomatoes, peppers and other things) and stuff them in your mouth as the hot juice dribbles down your chin. It's a messy process - see pics below...

Now the season is coming to an end - time for summer sangria!

Three eggs today

In January we fulfilled one of our living-in-the-countryside dreams and bought three chickens.

After David had eyed up expensive, finely combed Basque fowl and we'd considered the pros and cons of a cockerel (he looks after his girls but might have your eye out with a claw) we eventually settled on three point-of-lay bog-standard red hens from the local garden centre. They were only about five euros apiece, but by the time we bought a coop, some food, a feeding trough and a water dispenser it's going to take a year or so to repay our investment.

We tucked them up against the freezing winter winds with generous piles of sawdust and stacks of straw bales, bought 'Chickens for Dummies' and hoped for the best.

Eventually, one morning around Valentine's Day (the traditional start of the laying season) we found our first tiny brown egg nestling warmly in a corner of the coop. After that the eggs became bigger and bolder, but only ever one a day which seemed to signify that only one chicken was in lay (unless they were taking it in turns).

Then last week one of the hens shuffled herself down into a big pile of straw in the chicken run and began to make a nest. David predicted the second egg of the day and he was right - we got a little brown speckled one. We celebrated with eggs for breakfast on Sunday.

It was all going well until Sunday afternoon when the chickens were pootling around happily in the shade of the pine trees. (They have their own run, but usually escape and wander around until we put them back.) We'd forgotten that the puppy was off her lead. There was some barking and clucking, then a lot of squawking, flapping and pounding of paws. The puppy isolated one of the chickens and chased her down down the terraces into the forest, David chased the puppy, I tried to herd the other two chickens into their coop, David rugby-tackled the (very happy) puppy in a gorse bush and dragged her back to her kennel, and eventually we pulled the miraculously-not-dead-chicken out of the forest. Only one egg the next day.

But then today we had three eggs - hurray!