WRITERS ABROAD MAGAZINE
A Chosen Way of Life An Article by Chris Nedahl
Having recently spent a wonderful time with visitors from Australia, it set me thinking
about what it is to be an expat.
I am one of that vast number, having chosen southern Spain for my retirement.
My Welsh cousin was taken to his new country when just seven years old, his
parents emigrating under the assisted passage scheme. It was a bid for fresh
opportunities and a more advantaged life, something that proved successful for the
fledgling family.
The two weeks in Wales with him and his wife of 32 years, a lovely lady from the
Northern Territory, imparted an intimate knowledge of what it is to be a displaced
person or a diminishing people. Claire’s ancestors lived and flourished as Aboriginal
tribesmen long before the first white settlers landed on the shores of Oz. As a child,
she and her family had to relocate south, to Adelaide, when hurricane Tracy
devastated Darwin. In the grand order of things, it was a small change but for the
young child it was a significant adjustment — by no means least, the sub-tropical
year for the four distinct seasons. Through the church, she met, courted, and married
a Welshman from the Rhondda Valleys. Years on, they are parents to four beautiful
daughters whose heritage must be amongst the richest it is possible to be born to.
They are Australian, born and bred, but are passionate about their innate cultures.
So what of me? I have embraced my chosen home. I am still learning the
language and can speak to the locals, counting many of them as friends. My fervent
wish is to be able to ‘chat’ with them rather than converse, but sometimes I despair
this will happen. My chosen countrymen assure me I am doing well — bless their
hearts. I party with them at their fiestas and ferias though admit to retiring to my bed
a little earlier than sunrise.
The mañana culture can both irritate and amuse. Never, in my birth land, would I
wait hours to see an official only to be told he has gone for breakfast or lunch. But
also, I would not be able to post a letter being cents short for the stamp. ‘De pasa
nada,’ shrugs the man behind the counter taking my mail and stamping it
authoritatively, ‘tomorrow’. He proudly uses one of his English words.
This is the wonderful land of a laid back people and culture, the never knowing,
from one day to the next, what law has changed while you slept (the ever moving
goalposts), the friendship extended without reservation. Living in rural south-eastern
Spain is an adventure filled with new experiences. Most bring pleasure, some a
sense of frustration but with each, I become more deeply entrenched in the Spanish
way.
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