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Catalan town's smooth integration of migrants revealed by a stroll through peaceful medieval streets
Olot is the sort of town in which you might find what tourist brochures call the real Spain. In the Pyrenean foothills, away from the Costa Brava, it is a sturdy place with a grand central square, a few upmarket restaurants and a strong sense of local pride and tradition.
Like the country as a whole it has been changed out of all recognition in the last two decades by migration.
Walking the narrow medieval streets one evening this week I came across people with roots all over the world. The cheering thing – given Europe's drift to the right – is that in this Catalan town most claimed to feel welcome.
"Olot is equal to Fez," shouted a jovial group of teenagers when I asked whether they liked living there. Two of them, Warda and Natasha, had moved with their parents from Morocco; the third, Jesus, was Catalan-born. There seemed to be none of the tension and less of the segregation obvious in French towns such as Perpignan, not far away.
It would be foolish to pretend migrants to Spain do not face great challenges. There is much discrimination and unemployment but so far, despite the economic crash, little sign of a resurgent racist right. In Olot, the mayor has encouraged integration and it seems to have worked.
Things are more tense in neighbouring Vic, where immigrants have found themselves at the centre of an unpleasant political battle. The city has banned residents from erecting satellite dishes and hanging out washing, supposedly to preserve its historic appearance but really a snub intended to make life unpleasant for north African migrants crowded into tenement buildings.
Yet for the most part, Spain has proved tolerant: 1 million people claimed legal status in an amnesty in 2000. More than 10% of Spain's population was born abroad. With a long coast facing north Africa and strong links to Latin America, it has been the first stop for many migrants to Europe. Even in Olot, the diversity is striking: much wider than in an equivalent English country town.
I asked a group of Chinese students – on a course preparing them for university – whether they felt accepted. They seemed surprised by the question: the answer was yes. All claimed to have learnt Spanish and Catalan, as well as English.
The linguistic divide is one way Spain keeps its migrants apart. A member of the pro-independence ERC party told me "obviously you can be Catalan and black – but to integrate the best way is to learn the language".
Speaking Spanish, as many migrants do, is not good enough for everyone.
"I'm learning Catalan, but slowly, it isn't easy," I was told by Basago, a gently-spoken Gambian – Olot is home to many migrants from west Africa. He said he had found it hard to get work or a place to live. Landlords wanted white tenants, he said.
Nearby, Fatima, who 20 years ago arrived in Olot from Africa aged 16, disagreed. "People sometimes used to shout 'go back to the Canary Islands,' " she said. With five children in the local school, all learning Catalan, she said she felt happy in the town. At the last election she voted for a Catalan nationalist party.
Laden with shopping in the same street, Iris, originally from El Salvador, said the debate over Catalonia's political future did not involve her. "I'm ill and can't work – to me this is just Spain, but I get looked after." In the cities, perhaps, things are tougher. But an evening's walk in Olot gives some grounds for hope.