There is a different sound in the Chur dressing room now. It used to be a quiet place, almost monastic before training, with the Graubunden-born lads arriving early and settling into their familiar rhythm. Romansh in one corner, Swiss-German in another, the soft scrape of boots across concrete. Now there are new tones drifting through the room. A sharp “vamos” when the rondo starts. A joke or two in Castilian, low and quick. A warm “míster” each time I walk in.

The language of the group is changing. The culture is changing. And I suppose I am the one who opened the door.

My connections in Spain – especially Gernika and the few friends still working quietly inside the Spanish federation – have become a lifeline. It began with a message one evening, long after training, when Obere Au had fallen silent and the American football posts cut strange shapes against the floodlights. An agent I knew well, someone who had helped me at Gernika during my short time there – particularly in the signing Martin Montoya, said just nine words:

“Two boys free. Worth a look. Very your style.”

That was it. No reports, no glowing praise, just enough for me to trust him. Within a week, Guillem Badia was standing in front of me in the Chur office, all wiry energy and quick feet. A Catalan defender who sees passing lanes like mountain streams, narrow and sharp and always downhill. And soon after, Adrián Pérez arrived – a wide forward with that Spanish mix of arrogance and humility. He apologised for his luggage being late, then scored twice in his first training match. Two successful trial periods leading to two new acquisitions.

Both free agents. Both somehow sitting unnoticed under the nose of clubs with far more resources than us. Both, exactly the type of players this team has been missing.

Guillem hails from the town of Sant Cugat del Valles, a town just north of Barcelona in northern Catalunya. Like us Basques, the Catalan’s are fiercely proud of their influence, and I can already see this coming through in the youngster.  He started at the famed Damm academy club in Barcelona before moving on to Atletico Madrid and later back to Catalunya and Girona. He made six appearances in their B side, who play in the Segunda Federación Grupo III, the same level as Gernika. A left back by trade, he’s filled in at centre back before but I do feel he is more suited – physically, at least – to the wider berth in our defensive, sitting and spraying balls towards the forwards. Adrian is from the resort of Marbella and comes via the Real Madrid academy, where he could only manage six appearances in his professional career. Adrian brings with him some Spanish flair; a wide man blessed with pace and trickery, who I will surely employ as a half-space hunter.

There are some concerns, as there always will be, with these players: young, inexperienced, now in a foreign country whereby they do not have a support network around them. But we will work and nurture and support them and I will, unapologetically, use my connections in football – even from the briefness of my managerial career – to better this club and what it stands for.

The dressing room smells different too. Twice this month, after our late Thursday session, the Spanish lads have brought paella to share. Proper paella. Not the tourist type. You can smell the saffron before you open the lid. When Marc, the president, arrived, I was concerned but – despite turning down the initial offer, went back for seconds. Even ,my assistant Kevin Nouchet admitted he “could get used to this.” These things matter. Food brings people closer than tactics ever will.

But it has not all been easy.

Javi Martínez is struggling. It is obvious now, even to the players who don’t speak his language. He cannot keep up with the rhythm of training, at least not yet. The intensity we demand here – two ninety-minute sessions a week but both at full tilt – is a shock to him. In the Basque Country, even the smallest clubs grow up on hard sessions, on the idea that suffering is an ingredient of growth. Javi expected to step into that same environment. He did not expect the altitude, the colder air, or the relentless repetitions that Kevin pushes. Against Freienbach last weekend he showed his frustration for the first time. A misplaced pass, a heavy touch, and he lashed out at the ground with his boot. He apologised afterwards, but apologies are not the point. Transition is difficult. Change is uncomfortable. And he is not the only one feeling it. But he is honest, he looks me in the eye, and that matters far more than a perfect performance.

Still, the shift is happening. Training feels more like my training now. The patterns, the references, the behaviours I have carried with me from Zarautz, from Gernika, and even from those nights poring over Emery and Iraola clips in the Chur library – they are starting to appear on the pitch. Not perfectly. Not consistently. But enough to make me wonder what this could become. We are no longer just reacting to matches. We are imposing ourselves. We look more comfortable in possession, braver in defensive duels, sharper in transitions. Some days, when everything lines up, I see flashes of that Basque-Graubünden hybrid identity I have dreamed about. A style that runs, presses, bites, moves like a unit, thinks quickly and acts quicker.

But I know – deeply, honestly – that this is just the start.

Two signings do not build a team. Paella does not build culture. A few tactical steps forward do not build an identity strong enough to carry us into the long future I believe we can have here.

No, this is only the first tremor. The beginning of something still fragile.

The challenge now is to let it grow.