It’s a beautiful sunny Saturday, the clouds have cleared in my head and above.
My friend Lorenzo and I have decided to do a day trip up to the mountains ‘to get away from it all.’ What could possibly go wrong? Audrey is safely ensconced in the back seat, silent and only half scowling as we are in his car not in mine (I’ll refrain from calling it ‘the shitter’ today.)
We didn't know exactly where we were heading as we drove up into the mountains. Primarily the idea was to enjoy the cherry blossom, check out the small villages and beautiful scenery and possibly check out some kind of local fiesta we’d been told about. Bliss!.
Given Lorenzo is something of a horticultural enthusiast, we were under the impression the local fiesta was connected to horticulture in some aspect. I should have known…
After getting lost and stopping numerous times so the scowler could vomit the contents of her sandwich on the winding mountain roads, we finally made it to the village hosting said fiesta.
The first person I spot on arriving is an acquaintance called Boli who can only be described as looking like a mad professor, with his unruly hair, bulging eyes and completely manic behaviour. A nice guy but manic nonetheless! That should have been the warning…
He greeted us enthusiastically and asked what we were doing there, to which we replied, we had no bloody idea.
Given that everyone already seemed well oiled and excitable, I could pretty much assume this was not a horticultural event.
Lorenzo had muttered something about the fiesta of the onion? That's the great thing over here, you can find any excuse for a party be it an onion celebration or whatever else takes your fancy.
This is the point where it all becomes rather more surreal…
It later transpires that Onions, Spring onions are to be exact are at the centre of this celebration but the underlying reasons behind the fiesta is to revive a tradition that (in this area at least )has slowly died out. A communal celebration of the land, eating together, sharing together. All sounds way too quaint to possibly be true if you ask me.
We were greeted by a wall of sound as we turned the corner: Hundreds of people sitting, drinking, celebrating, carried along by a band playing traditional music,not to mention the free flowing beer and Sangria which evidently added to the party atmosphere. To be honest, the three of us were somewhat bewildered at first.
Good old Boli took control and thrust us into the crowds, towards the bar. A quick scan of the surrounding posters confirmed what I suspected; this was more than a good old piss up using the excuse of a spring onion!
Maybe it was the hammer and sickle that gave it away or the pro Palestinian posters or...
Actually, I began to relax pretty quickly, as I looked around and realised there were many other bemused looking faces around us who, onions aside, were perhaps as green as us to what was actually going on.
Our eccentric friend pushed his way through the crowds and made a place for us at the table, where he then shouted enthusiastically that we were friends and were welcome because we respected their beliefs and traditions! Blimey-Most of this was in drunken Catalan which I understand little of, though punctuated by the odd word in English or Castellano. Lorenzo translated the bits which went over my head.
I gathered they are a pro Catalan organisation, though apparently non political and want independence from " Spain " for they are Catalan not Castellano.
Now, I believe if there is a GOD, that he or she has a rather ironic sense of humour knowing how pissed off I get over the politicising of language, especially on a Saturday afternoon with a grumpy arse teen in tow and when all I really want is independence from my own bloody tyrannical head!! Try being governed by that!
I would be lying however if I said I wasn’t moved, as I listened to the stirring, traditional song, amongst a sombre crowd, some with raised fists, eyes closed.
The "red" in me rose slowly to the surface, only to slowly subside again as I returned to reality. For there is one simple truth here: too much division and not enough unity and that can be applied to everything and everyone in life.
I’m startled out of my romantic reverie by a prod in the ribs from Audrey/Kevin the teenager who is hungry and I am yet again reminded that I’m EVIL for dragging her to this mental place where there is little edible fare that does not constitute of a barbecued spring onion.
Lorenzo, bless him, saved the day by managing to acquire an omelette, chips and a coke ( I could have pointed out that that multi national Coca Cola was a rather ironic reminder of all that is evil in the capitalist West but you know by this point I was on the Sangria and Audrey was silent and why ruin the party?)
Lorenzo, bless him, saved the day by managing to acquire an omelette, chips and a coke ( I could have pointed out that that multi national Coca Cola was a rather ironic reminder of all that is evil in the capitalist West but you know by this point I was on the Sangria and Audrey was silent and why ruin the party?)
As for the onion fest, well we ended up having a great day amongst ‘new friends’ and strangers alike. I enjoyed the atmosphere, eating together, sharing together, unity and for a brief moment, a collective belief in “something.” I have a strange feeling I won’t be romanticising about the Sangria tomorrow, dear diary. And yes, if invited again I shall return though, I might lay off the Sangria. Ahhh, if only every day could be like that…
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