1950
"You guys...I think we've been maybe a little harsh to Spain. I mean, he's not that bad...I mean, this boss is still an asshole, but him...We should cut him some slack, don't you think?"
America's words brought a frown to Russia's face.
"You called Spain an enemy of freedom not so long ago, maybe this change of mind is motivated by strategical interests?"
"I really have no idea what you're talking about, Russia. So, let us vote. Who thinks Spain should be allowed in our little club?"
Argentina, of course, immediately raised her hand. Other ex-colonies of his, like Ecuador, raised their hands. Venezuela and Bolivia, as well as Belgium, Holland and Luxembourg, changed their minds and votes yes.
"Who says no?"
Mexico was still in favor of giving Spain what he deserved, letting the fascists get the power. Russia and his loyal sister Belarus were not going to give the regime that legitimization. Poland and Israel had no sympathy for him either and also voted no. So did Uruguay and Guatemala.
"Abstentions?"
Cuba just crossed his arms. Australia, so interested in this matter last time they voted, decided he had changed his mind. France and England, who once despised Spain, didn't say anything this time. Denmark and Sweden, who voted in favor of leaving Spain out last time, now were neutral about this.
"That is 38 in favor, 10 against, 12 abstentions. Okay, so...Can somebody call Spain and tell him to come here?"
1953
"I've been wanting to ask you for so long...Why did you do that, America? Defending me before the UN. I thought you hated my boss."
America licked his lips, apparently not listening to Spain's question.
"What was this called, again?" he asked.
"Sangría."
"Hm" he muttered, then he left the glass on the table. "Well, let's make one thing clear: I still think your boss sucks. He's a fascist pig and goes against all I believe in. No offense."
"None taken."
"But he is against communism, and that is something in his favor. Why do you think France, England, Australia, so many people have changed their mind? Because communism is a problem. That is the one thing the Axis was right about. It is dangerous, it kills people. Look at the people under Russia's control: do you think they like it? I saw Lithuania the other day. He used to be a great guy; now he looks tired and sick."
"Yeah, I know. I used to hang out with Prussia, and I'm not allowed to visit him or even call him..."
"Russia's a tyrant. He won't stop until he rules the world and turns it into a gigantic gulag."
"And I suppose you're here to stop it..."
America glanced at Spain with a smile.
"Someone has to do something, right?"
"I suppose..." Spain shrugged.
"You probably have the best house in the whole Europe. A very well-situated point."
"I know. That's why I've been having trouble all of my life."
"So, listen to me: I'll give you everything you need, money, food, all that stuff, if you let me build some bases here. Four or five. Both of us will be winning. What do you say?"
Spain considered the offer looking into the red liquid in his glass.
Finally, he offered his hand to shake.
"Deal."
America grinned and shook his hand.
"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship" he imitated Humphrey Bogart's voice.
1965
"Oh, my God, there they are!"
The girls started screaming, making Spain's friend, Toño, to cover his ears.
"Jesus! All this fuss for some long-haired morons?!" he complained.
"Where've you been? It's the Beatles!" Spain chuckled.
They were getting off the plane, waving their arms at the mass of fans greeting them in the Barajas Airport.
"I still don't know why you like their music. You have a gorgeous music of our own" Toño kept bickering.
"Gee, Toño, I am the oldest here by far, but you, you are acting like a grandpa, dude" Spain chuckled.
Spain was there to receive the group. Photos were taken, which Spain would ask for to frame later. He complimented their music and hoped they had a nice stay, and the Liverpool boys were really flattered and thankful. Then, when the crowd surrounded them, Spain moved away, and it was then when somebody tapped his shoulder with a finger.
"England!"
"Hello, Spain" he removed his sunglasses and smiled at him.
"What are you doing here?"
"Well, the group was on tour and I said to myself that I could take this chance to go on holidays. I have some free time and..."
"Oh. I...had no idea you were a fan of the Beatles."
"What surprises me is that you are a fan."
"Are you kidding? They're sweet!"
England chuckled.
"We finally agree on something..."
"Who would have thought it!" Spain smiled too. "Hey, why don't you come to my place?"
"Well, I am not in the mood for diplomatic visits..."
"No, that's not what I mean. My boss is in a ceremony concerning a new reservoir. I mean you and I, at my place, alone. I could show you around if you want—I mean, if you promise this time you will not try to destroy and rob my cities."
England smiled.
"That was long time ago. I am starting to feel old: I just want to have a peaceful time."
"Or maybe you are feeling younger."
"Yes, we can see it that way."
"So...What do you say?"
"...Alright. Yes. Why not?"
1968
Massiel was young, but not inexperienced. She had appeared in movies and sang at music festivals. However, now all of Europe was looking at her, and she was really nervous.
"I feel like I am going faint..." she muttered.
"It's okay, nena. I am with you. Look at me. I'll be there. Whatever happens, you will still be the best for me."
Spain smiled at her, grabbed her hands, and Massiel breathed deep, closing her eyes. She raised her head to smile at Spain, and he caressed her chin.
"Now go there and show them what you can do."
She nodded and followed the staff which was giving her orders. Spain went back to his seat, joining the other nations.
"It is time for Massiel, representing Spain with the song 'La, la, la'"
"Wooo!" Spain probably made a scene, clapping and cheering, but did he care? Absolutely. Massiel needed it.
She started shy, Spain could see her fright.
"Yo canto a la mañana / Que ve mi juventud / Y al sol que día a día / Nos trae nueva inquietud / Todo en la vida es / Como una canción / Que cantan cuando naces / Y también en el adiós"
Her smile widened when she gazed at him.
"La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la...~"
And Spain smiled too. He didn't care if she won or not. He liked that song, and he loved Massiel.
"Did I do it right? I think I controlled my fright, but..." Massiel said to him when the time for voting came.
"You did fine. You should be proud" Spain told her, wrapping an arm around her and kissing her cheek.
They squeezed each other's hand when the jury finally announced their decision.
England received 28 points...Oh...The song he had presented, Congratulations, was very fitting, then...
But wait...They got...29 points!
"And the winner is Spain, with Massiel's song La, la, la."
Massiel gasped and hugged Spain, almost making him fall to the floor. She filled his face with kisses, thanking him, and Spain responded the exact same way. Together, they ran to the stage, where Massiel was given the trophy and required to sing the reprise. This time, Spain sang with her.
"Le canto a mi madre / Que dio vida a mi ser / Le canto a la tierra / Que me ha visto crecer" Massiel sang.
"Y canto al día en que / Sentí el amor/ Andando por la vida / Aprendí esta canción" Spain continued.
And together they said: "La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la...~"
That was enough, he judged. Spain abandoned his lying position and checked that he was not red. No. Good. He wasn't sure of how long he had been sunbathing—he wanted to get a bit of suntan, but not end up like if he was African or a lobster. He sat under his umbrella and grabbed one of the magazines he had bought at the gas station. Julio Iglesias sang at the television program Galas del Sábado, Raphael was greeted at the airport by a crowd of hysteric girls, the latest news about empress Farah Diba...
He raised his eyes from the magazine and found something which made him lose all interest in gossip.
A man who had been swimming in the placid water and now came out, dripping, shaking his hair a bit. He was the blondest guy he had ever seen.
A funny feeling took over his body when he saw him. His pupils dilated and blush made his cheeks burn more than the recent exposition to sun.
He watched him walking to the blue towel he had left in the sand, drying himself a bit before sitting on it, putting his glasses on and just sat in there, watching the Levante beach, looking really relaxed.
Spain was so extremely curious that he couldn't resist the urge to approach him.
"Uh...Hey there!"
The blond guy turned his bright blue eyes to him. Gosh, those eyes almost made him forget what he was about to say.
"What's up?"
The guy didn't reply.
"I'm Spain. Who are you?"
"Sweden."
"Sweden?"
That Scandinavian nation? What was he doing there? It seemed like he was blocking the sun to him, so he moved to sit by his side.
"I've never seen you around before."
"I heard about your beaches."
"My beaches?"
Spain gazed at the water.
"What about them?"
"They are nice."
"Do you think so?"
"Yes."
"Ah...So you came all the way here to have a swim and stuff?"
"Yes."
"Thanks, I guess...Hmm...Did you come here alone? I mean, are you with someone?" seeing the way Sweden was looking at him and his mutism, Spain clarified: "I would love to show you around."
Sweden took his time to answer.
"...Okay."
So the first place Spain took him was a restaurant.
"This is arroz a banda. It's not exactly paella, it's a recipe original from Alicante. You got moralla, a type of fish, and alioli, uhm, a sauce made of garlic and olive oil."
Sweden watched the plate for long. Then, he grabbed his fork and took a bit. Spain wasn't sure if he liked it, because that guy was so inexpressive, but he thought he had seen a positive reaction in his eyes.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
"...Yes" Sweden admitted, and he showed it taking a more generous bite.
Spain, however, didn't eat. He placed his elbows on the table and watched Sweden eat with a transfixed expression.
"I also suggest you to try the espetos."
"What is that?"
"It's fried fish."
"Bring them in, yes."
"If you're still hungry we got horchata, fartons, flan, fruit, Catalan cream..."
"Mmmkay" Sweden nodded, still eating.
"Anything you want."
"Thanks."
"By God, your eyes are really gorgeous, did someone ever told you?"
"Hm?"
"Nothing."
Sweden had probably eaten too much, it was difficult for him to stand up from his chair, so Spain took him for a walk to let the food settle.
"We call this the Balcony of the Mediterranean. Isn't it beautiful?" Spain spread his arms to show him the sea around them.
"It is" Sweden nodded, his hands on the balustrade to lean forward and watch the walls of rock under them.
The sudden sound of the camera taking a photo made him turn around.
"No, no, no, don't move. You look fabulous right now" Spain said to him, shaking a hand.
So Sweden continued in the same posture so Spain could take him one or two more photos.
After that, Spain took him to the Tower of la Escaleta, then to the church of Saint James. After that, they continued to take a walk.
"If you're tired, we could have an ice cream" Spain suggested.
"Ice cream would be nice, yes" Sweden nodded.
"Are you...having a good time?"
"I like this a lot" Who would have said, seeing how serious that guy was, but Spain considered he was being sincere, and it brought a wide smile to his face.
"I'm so glad! But you've seen nothing yet. The best thing comes when sun goes down."
That night, he took Sweden out to have dinner out. After that, he suggested visiting an Andalusian place he knew, ran by a gypsy family. Being the nation, he was very well received and served the very best, on the house, of course. But Spain had chosen this place because they did these flamenco shows. He smiled seeing Sweden mesmerized by the frenetic heel tap, the movement of the dress of the girl in the stage, her beautiful but fierce expression, the raspy voice of the male singer, the rhythmic clapping. The group asked Spain to join them and he didn't need much insistence to get on the stage. His intervention, dancing with the girl, seemed to make the show even more impressive, as if he, representing the country which invented that dance, made it even more magical, supernatural, breathtaking. When he finished, he saw Sweden clapping with a smile—did he shout 'Olé!'? Perhaps. They had drunk so much alcohol that day he was surely a bit tipsy.
Spain bowed to his audience and it was then, turning his head into the direction where he had heard a whistle, when he saw him. He narrowed his eyes, not sure if...but yes, it was him.
"France?"
Yes, it was France. He knew because when Spain recognized him, he almost chocked on his drink and talked to the lady by his side, and tried to escape. Spain jumped from the stage, told Sweden to please excuse him for a second, and walked to that table.
"France?"
France was pretending to be lacing his shoes. But that didn't work, when he raised his head Spain was still there, looking at him with an eyebrow raised.
"What are you doing here?"
France pressed his lips, not sure of what to say.
"...I like your gastronomy, okay?" he was forced to admit.
"Sure...The gastronomy..." Spain smirked, pointing at the dancer with a thumb.
He smiled at France.
"Well, I hope you have a nice time here. And I really mean it...Look, I'm with Sweden in that table over there, if you and your friends want to join us..."
So many people were interested in his place lately...
...And that gave him an idea...
He grabbed his pen and pad from his pocket and wrote something: «Call boss. Tourists.»
As years passed, the economic problems of the post-war disappeared. Food rationing was no longer necessary in 1950. Something which contributed was Spain being accepted internationally, due to the increasing fear of communism, the biggest enemy of Franco's regime, taking over the whole war, now immersed in the Cold War. There was a big approach to the United States, which build military bases in our country in exchange of economic compensation (and would later used certain facilities when sending astronauts to the moon). We were left out of the Marshall plan (and there is a classic movie by Berlanga called Welcome, Mr. Marshall! which satirizes this) but this helped our economy. Also, and due to the regime's extremely religious and conservative nature, there were pacts with the Vatican.
But the biggest contribution to the improvement of our situation was tourism. The creation of the middle class in the 60s made Spanish people afford traveling around the country, something only rich people could do until then, and the coast started building hotels and multiplying their entertainment offer. There is another movie from this time, called El turismo es un gran invento, which portrays perfectly this boom, and the race of many towns to strive by taking advantage of this. And it was then when we started receiving tourists from other countries. Were we fascinated! I often say part of our racism comes from not being frequently exposed to foreigners until then. It was now when we saw these extremely blond people coming from United Kingdom, France, Russia, and it was a big shock. But the ones we loved were the Swedish. If you watch comedies from this time, you will see we were specially mesmerized by the Swedish girls, probably because of the contrast with the Mediterraneans. ¡Las suecas! We used to call any blonde girl Swedish. The Swedish girls ar legendary still to this day.
The title comes from a slogan used to promote tourism in Spain during this time, exactly that: Spain is Different. Nowadays we kind of use it to point out the weird or embarrassing stuff about ourselves, though.
Also, I have mentioned Spain's first victory in the Eurovision contest, not without controversy because it has been said it was rigged by Franco, who also prevented famous singer Serrat from participating because he wanted to sing in Catalan and chose Massiel instead. The song, which is an ode to life and happiness, fits the optimistic spirit of Spain. I included the headcanon that the nations sing the reprise with their representatives.
