Category: Transportation options

Northern Ireland

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We are spending our last week in Ireland in Derry or Londonderry. Depending upon your political point of view. More on that in another post. So it was the moment to see the Giant’s Causeway.

This basalt rock phenomenon occurs on the Northern coast of Ireland. If you require a little courage before your visit you can stop in Bushmill for a wee dram before you get to the truly majestic scenery a couple miles down the road. I say ‘miles’ because here in Northern Ireland its miles not kilometers. There was no sign when we crossed from Ireland to the UK/Northern Ireland welcoming us to a new country, except the one telling us that now we were calculating speed signs in miles. But our car only had kilometers. So we were doing backwards calculations to figure out how not to speed or go too slow.

In Ireland there are speed signs every 10 meters – even the farmers driveway doubling as an Irish expressway. In Northern Ireland they tell you the speed once at the border with a hearty ‘Good Luck guessing it on the rest of these god-forsaken roads.’

We made our way to the Giant’s Causeway over hill and dale, but it was worth it. From Derry it’s an hour drive. I’d tell you the distance but it doesn’t matter. Distance here means nothing. Its time that matters. 28 kilometers can take you an hour as Google routes you through the parking lot of a welding workshop, only to find the one lane track you were on previously picks up on the other side. You think I’m kidding. Sadly, not. Jeff checked to see if there was a setting to stop this nonsense, but if we turned it off in the app we would never be able to leave the country.

The GC is part of The National Trust of the UK. The Trust was set up in the late 19th century to save historically significant buildings and locales. They do good work and The Giants Causeway is head and shoulders their biggest draw every year. Heading for 3/4 of a million visitors annually. After seeing this area there is no mystery as to why.

It’s set up well with minimal impact to the environment. The visitors center is tasteful and not an ‘Exit Thru the Giftshop’ type of experience. If you’re a member of The National Trust its free. For a family that’s about 100£ per year. A bargin when planning on seeing other culturally significant places throughout the UK.

We did the self guided tour with the head sets, but could have waited the 40 minutes for the guided tour that is also included in the ticket. It was awe inspiring.

The place was created by lava flows, chemical weathering, and time. The hexagonal rocks and pillars are otherworldly.

The walk down to see them is stunning.

The Irish legend goes something like this. There was a giant called Finn. He created Ireland and he was pissed at a Scottish giant who wanted to threaten his land. So he threw the hexagonal stones into the sea to scare his foe, who used them as a bridge or causeway to run across the sea from Scotland to fight Finn. Well, Finn saw him coming and was shocked by his size. He knew he was outmatched so he ran home to his wife, and cried like a baby.

She knew just what to do and wrapped Finn up, swaddling him like a baby and put him in bed. The other giant found his way to their cottage and asked the wife where her husband was so they could fight. She told him Finn was out. But he searched the cottage anyway and heard ‘the baby’ crying – it was Finn afraid to death. But the other giant thought ‘If this is the baby, then his father must be huge!’. So he ran back to Scotland, tearing up the causeway with his footsteps. There are similar basalt pillars on the Scottish side today to prove the story.

In fact, about 60k yrs ago, lava flowed and formed these pillars. It took 40k yrs for the pillars to interlock. Hexagons are some of the strongest and most frequently occurring shapes in nature. Think honeycombs and tortoise shells.

We walked up to the Giant’s Pipe Organ, said to be heard once a year at 6am on Christmas morn. Then headed up top, via nearly one million stairs straight up, to make our way back. Hoping not to drive to Derry in the dark. The views continued to amaze the whole way. You could easily spend an entire day there.


Well worth a visit to this UNESCO World Heritage site. And a strong recommendation on the Bushmills. The town is adorable – you might consider staying there for a night. More importantly, you might need a break from driving out there from Derry. But this is wild Ireland at its most raw and beautiful. Not to be missed.

It was a dark and stormy night

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Well, it was actually a dark and stormy afternoon. And it was the day that I realized the theme of this week should be ‘The Appointment to Make the Appointment’. We hit the ground running this week.




Our first annual medical exams since we’ve been here – actually, we were way past due before we left so it was time to go get a check up and all the commiserate tests. We’re both over 50 now so the tune up and oil change takes a little more work. Blood tests and ultra sounds. It requires multiple doctors and the process here is a little more round-trip intensive.




First, we go to the clinic to make the appointment because we can’t do it over the phone – being Spanishly challenged. Then we go to the appointment and meet with the doctor. Whichever doctor it is orders tests. We go to where we are going to have the tests. Then they tell you when you can return to pick up the results – they don’t just send it to the Dr. who ordered the tests. Then you pick up the results and return to the doctor to make an appointment to review your results. Etc. Rinse and Repeat.




Jeff got lucky this time because I went to our English speaking family practitioner first. I happened to mention that Jeff would be making an appointment himself to see him. The Dr. felt he would save him some time and gave me all the blood work orders for Jeff too. So he got to skip two steps right out of the gate. When he complained about going to the Dr. after his tests came back I wanted to punch him.




Today, I had an appointment to take the examination for the driving theory test at the Jefatura de Trafico. I made it the week before we left for Brazil online and I have spent every day since doing nothing but studying the book and taking the online practice tests.  OK, that and watching a Breaking Bad marathon but you can do both at the same time. I know I’m ready because I’m passing nearly every practice test I take. But what I wasn’t prepared for was the test of getting to the test.




I had even attempted a dry run. This week I had to go get my psychological/medical fitness certificate. The clinics are across the street from the Jefatura so I knew where to go. It took 10 minutes, during which time they asked if I was depressed, tested my eyes and made me play a video game where I had to keep the two bars on the screen inside the winding road. Twenty six euros later and I had my certificate.




Since I was right across the street, I thought I’d go check out the Jefatura de Traffico and learn the system and ask for the remaining forms I required. Just so I’d be ready today. The security guard is brutal on the ‘taking-of-the-number’ business. I was not getting past him to ask a small question – without the requisite appointment. So no dry run.




Today – test day – Jeff came with me and we went early. I wanted to make sure I had plenty of time. I’d gotten my passport photos at the machine in the subway and I had all the copies that Spanish bureaucracy requires. Everything in triplicate. But getting into the equivalent of the Department of Motor Vehicle early is not allowed. Seriously, you can’t get there early – just at your appointed predetermined time. While I was in line waiting to learn this little tidbit from the militant security guard, I found my Irish friend, Donna, happened to be in line in front of me. She was swapping her driving license out – because EU citizens just exchange theirs with a form and and fee. Me? I have to act like I’m 15 again.




So after our unceremonious booting out of the Jefatura (the guy actually wagged his finger at me and said ‘No!’), we went across the street with our tails between our legs to have a coffee and to wait until the machine, that gives you a number the security guard checks so very closely, will spit out a ticket that gives you the privilege to sit down and wait. And wait. And wait.




Finally, we decided to leave the safety of the cafe to brave ‘El Securidad’ once more, and success! The ticket has 3 letters and 3 numbers. Then you sit and wait, looking up at screens every time the bell goes ‘Ping!’, checking your ticket against the information on the screen. It’s like playing Keno. When other combinations would come up and it had a common letter or number to mine – Jeff would comment on it. When my number came I almost shouted out ‘BINGO!’ but he was on to me and whispered ‘Don’t do it.’ So I held back.




Up I went to the window with my documents and copies in my plastic folder. Just like everyone else here, you go to no official building without your plastic folder full of everything you have ever documented since the beginning of time – this can include your baptismal certificate. The gentleman who helped me was very nice. He looked at what I had brought and then took my Residencia/NIE card back to have it examined by someone else and they had a long discussion about it. I was having flashbacks to the Spanish Embassy in Los Angeles. If I had to conjure bank statements I was going to scream.




Then, he came back and brought forms with him. He typed alot, glued my photos to a form, and more typing. Then he asked me when I wanted to take my test. 




‘How about now?’ I told him. I’m not sure why he thought I was there.




‘Oh no. Today you pay. You take the examination on December 3.’ He looked at me confused that I didn’t know this was ‘the appointment to make the appointment’. The test will be at a place several miles outside of town in a couple of weeks.




What could I do? Storm off? It’s just how it is. But I was a little disappointed. I was ready. I was psyched up. I memorized the manual on two continents and 24 hours in the air. I had asked Jeff over the last 48 hours one hundred times if he thought I was going to pass. I peaked too soon! But now I have a packet of all the forms and everything I’ll need in a couple of weeks. I am resigned. Jeff was less than happy.




We went home on the subway and when we got to the Benimachlet metro stop it was clear that the storm outside had become something of an issue. The water was pouring  down the stairs like a waterfall. I hid my packet of precious stamped theory test documents – including my new appointment time – under my rain coat and made a run for it. I took a video so you could see how much rain we’re talking about.








I had thought about wearing my Hunter boots today. It was raining after all. But I just wore my little green rubber ankle Boggs. My go-to rain boots for a Seattle rain. Today, they were woefully inadequate. I needed fishing waders – no kidding. By the time we got home with the rain coming down sideways, both of us were soaked to the bone. Like someone had sprayed us with a hose for 5 blocks straight.




‘We have to stop!’ I shouted at him half way home from the Metro station.




‘Why? We can’t get any wetter!’ Jeff wisely shouted back. And of course, he was right. But everyone on the street was laughing. Movie rain is like that. We’re all in the same boat, or swimming in the same ocean, I guess.




When I got home, I saw this lithograph I had bought at an artist gathering in Sao Paolo and it made me smile. Something about it struck me at the time and I stuffed it in my already bulging bag for the trip home – Jeff just shaking his head. So today, it seemed appropriate since my own umbrella was in the exact same position. A premonition of sorts.







I’ll have to remember the lessons of this week when we start our residency renewal in a few months. And allow enough time to make ‘the appointment, to make the appointment’. Hopefully, that day it will be a little less wet.

Teaching the Test

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I’m all over this driving test thing. Every day I’m taking the actual Dirección General de Tráfico (DGT) tests online. In the beginning, I was getting discouraged. I was successful somewhere in the 70% range and it was a morale killer. But I have persevered and now I’m either passing the actual tests or coming very close with only 4 mistakes.

I have learned a lot and not just about Spanish traffic laws. I’ve learned that ‘should’ and ‘must’ aren’t the same as ‘mandatory;. And ‘can’t’ or ‘shouldn’t’ isn’t the same as ‘prohibited’. In English, these mean the same things. In Spanish (or the translation) there’s a bit of trickery that will fool you every time until you start to spot these words and realize you’re about to be duped for the 400th time. Damn you, DGT test! You’ll not get me again. Fool me 400 times, shame on you. Fool me for the 401st – shame on me.

And if there are two answers that look, and actually mean the same thing, the one that says ‘but can be modified at any time at the discretion or authority of the police or other authorized persons’, that’s the answer – no matter what other thing you think it might be. Because if the police or authorized persons tells you to stand on your head in the middle of the tracks, with the engine running and a train coming, and livestock on all sides of the road – even though there is no ‘Canada’ sign and other signs expressly prohibiting it – you will do it. It’s ‘compulsory’. No can’s, no should’s. You will follow the authorities.

I’ve also learned a lot about how the pictures in the test have nothing, whatsoever to do with the question. When they show wild horses running all over the road, on both sides, and then ask you if you can encounter livestock on:

a) the right side of the road.

b) the left side of the road.

c) the entire road.

The answer is a). And here’s why. The picture is meant to be a fun bit of misdirection. And you’ll notice the word ‘can‘ in the question. This seems to the layman that, based on the photo and experience, of course you CAN experience livestock on all sides of the road. But you’d be wrong. Legally, you can only experience it on the right side with the flow of traffic. But remember, when you encounter livestock arbitrarily in the road you must yield to them. I plan on shouting at them ‘You’re prohibited from being here legally! The law says so!’ But of course I’d be screaming it in English so they wouldn’t understand me. Anyway – in my experience you yield to things bigger than you.

I’ve learned a bunch of other stuff too. The Spanish driving test cares a lot about depression, fatigue and both prescription and non-prescription drug use. It cares about smoking in the car and GPS use. As I sit here taking tests, Jeff has been looking over my shoulder. Sometimes he’s been helpful, at other times he’s emphatically suggested something that I know is incorrect, because I’ve encountered it before. I just chuckle – how naive he is that he thinks he understands whether you ‘can’ use your fog lights in a light drizzle – silly man. So he’s learning too. But this one particular question threw us both for a loop. Take a look at this picture. Notice there is no D) NONE!!

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Now, I can learn all the facts and figures around when I need to have my car or motorcycle inspected by the MOT/ITV. I can learn right of ways for one lane roads and urban vs. interurban areas. But HOLY MOLY! Driving a school bus after a few drinks? When was that decided it might be a) an OK idea, and after that one bad decision, b) how much they should be able to drink?! This just seems wrong. We both shook our head and then remembered that none of our kids will ever ride a Spanish school bus so that’s one more reason to sleep at night. But then I thought about the driver of our Metro train and took a gulp.

Last week, I found the street in front front of the Jefatura Provincial de Trafico, and it was festooned with places to get my medical/psychological exam to obtain my certificate. I was waiting for Jeff in a cafe and asked the woman next to me about all the clinics that were lining the street. I asked her if it was cosmetic surgery or botox or something. She laughed and explained it was for the certificate to drive in Spain. So now I know where to go. They stand outside in lab coats like hucksters so I’m thinking I can negotiate the cost. And next week I’m getting my new town hall certificate and passport sized photos for my learners permit.

I’m starting to be more sure of myself, but not cocky. There’s no room in this process for over confidence. After a little more practice and gathering my documents, I’ll make the appointment to take the test for after we’re back from Brazil in mid-November. I’m hoping I pass on the first two tries so I don’t have to take an actual course and can spend the rest of my time learning in the car. I’d like to start the new year with my new license and a new car – ready to explore more of the country. Seems like a good way to start the year!

¡Hola Madrid!

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We took the high speed to Madrid from Valencia for our final days with Emilie before she went back to school. It cuts the travel time in half but still allows for beautiful views of wine, olives and this time of year, sunflower fields by the mile. All along the route it seemed the flowers were facing us with their sunny greetings. And the train station in Central Madrid is a botanical marvel itself.

 

I’ve not spent time in Madrid, other than to fly in and out. We are coastal people and interior cities that don’t boast a large body of water have never held sway with me for vacation destinations. But I must say, I LOVE MADRID!  And now, so does Jeff. And we walked about 30 miles of the streets, parks and museums while we were there. It’s a city so rich with history and culture it nearly soaks into your skin through osmosis.

We stayed near the Prado on the edge of Sol. The neighborhood is old and the streets shady and narrow. Gran Via and Sol are where Earnest Hemingway wrote The Sun Also Rises, drank (ALOT!) and generally soaked up the Spanish way of life he loved so much. Cervantes lived around the corner from our hotel and wrote Don Quixote while living there. Walking the streets, there are quotes from famous residents memorialized in brass in the cobbles. Poets, novelists, musicians.

We spent an afternoon in the The Parque del Retiro. It’s and incredible place, built for strolling on a very hot Madrid summer afternoon. Shade abounds and every turn brings new discoveries. The lake (Estanque grande del Retiro) where boats can be rented reminds me of a family vacation to Versaille. Nothing like tooling around on the water on a summer day.

The park sports a now defunct zoo from Franco’s time. But the cages are still there. And peacocks by the dozens roam free with their babies. I had never seen a baby peacock before but, as Emilie found out, the mother’s are very protective.

Madrid has so many monuments recounting it’s rich history and it rivals Paris for military and artistic exploits, and it’s pride in celebrating them. But Madrid outpaces Paris in the ‘Let’s put monuments and statues on top of buildings’ category. Here, they win every time.

The streets nearby the Botanical Gardens are shut down on Sundays so everyone is out walking their dogs, strollers flying and exercising like it seems is the number one Spanish past time. Again, we need to start running if we’re going to keep up. Literally.

We spent some happy air conditioned hours in the Prado. I had never been and had always wanted to go. Caravaggio, Sorolla – Valencia’s native son, Velazquez, Poussin. They’re all there. Portraits of Charles V and his many wives and all the Bourbons and Infantiles of Portugal. And the statuary is impressive. I have, however, reinforced my feelings about Goya. On my darkest day I don’t think I have ever been as down as the images captured in his 14 painting dubbed ‘The Black Paintings’. My first exposure to him was at The Frick in NY and his work in the Prado did little to change my impression.

Our dinner on Saturday night was to DIE FOR! An Argentine meat place near our hotel called ‘La Cabana Argentina’. We’ve now had the best meal we’ve eaten since we moved to Spain five months ago. The meat was perfectly cooked and the sides were scrumptious. It smelled so good that just walking in we were salivating after a long hot day of seeing the city. The service was first rate and we left feeling like we’d gotten a great deal on dinner after spending more than we have on one meal since we left the US.

Finally, it was time to take Em to the airport. We had a couple of choices. A train for 2.50 from the main train station at Atocha. The Metro for 5 euros. Or a taxi for 30 euros. So we took the taxi. With everything else, I wasn’t up for the stress of trying to figure it all out for the first time, while making sure Emilie got to her flight on time. So Jeff and I took the train back after we checked her in and dropped her off at security. I shed more than a few tears. Emilie was her confident self taking it all in stride. Next time it will be a piece of cake navigating Madrid airport transport.

So now Emilie is safely ensconced back at school (I got her text in the middle of a sleepless night) and we’ve had a great final weekend and cultural excursion in Madrid as a family. And now we know it’s a city we want to see much more of. I guess, like Ernest Hemingway, we are falling in love with Spain more and more every time we turn a new corner.

No Really, Where’s my Stuff?!?

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Oh yes. Back in the dark ages – well, the end of February, the movers came and took our stuff to Los Angeles. They had promised to put it all on a boat that would sail across the sea. How do I know this? Because I gave them a pile of money and signed a contract to that effect. What day is it today? Hmm, oh yeah, it’s June 7th. And where is my stuff? A question not even the Oracle at Delphi could answer lying in her sulfur fog in her stone mountain top temple.

The first indication that we might have an issue was about a month after arriving here in Valencia, the shipper in LA contacted me and asked me ‘for an inventory list’. WHAT?!? I asked them why they would be asking me for that since the movers made a list of what was in each box – because I had already numbered said boxes and made an inventory list for them. Well, they didn’t have it. So I sent them another copy and pictures of each of the number items I had taken with my cell phone before allowing them to be loaded.

Yes, I’m just that organized. Ok – paranoid. But it was our stuff. And we cared about it enough to ship it half way across the world, across oceans and through canals. You can see how my blood pressure might have gone up a bit. I conveyed my displeasure to the person who was doing the asking. ‘Was this what I paid all that money for?’ She never directly addressed the question but assured me that now she could ship our stuff.

What?!? They had picked it up a month before. Where the HELL had it been, if not in a container rapidly steaming it’s way towards me with dolphins riding the bow wave guiding to Valencia?? I was pissed. They said it had been stored until it was put on the boat with other containers. What could I do? Nothing – so I decided to drink a glass of wine and take 10 deep breaths. It worked for awhile.

Before we went to pick up Jeff’s bike in Germany at the beginning of May, I reached out to them again and asked when our stuff would be getting here. I didn’t want it to show up while we were in Germany. They assured me that it would be arriving on May 23rd to Valencia. The customs people would contact me and arrange the paperwork and delivery. Ugh – but fine. We booked our tickets to Germany and off we went.

The timing was good because Emilie was coming on the 19th. That would give her a couple of days to settle in before her stuff got here and we could spend days unpacking it all. The 23rd came and went – no call. So 7 days after the due date, I reached out again. No response. So, in my typical fashion I did a little digging and found the CEO’s email address and cc’d him on my next communication showing the string of untruths I had been told in the emails with these people going back to February. Voila! I got a response telling me our stuff was going to now arrive on June 12, saying they were sorry for the delay and all would be well. You can tell I felt much better. NOT!

Then an email came from a nice guy in Rotterdam in The Netherlands who told me he would be handling the customs paperwork for me when the shipment arrived in Rotterdam. AGAIN WHAT?!? I quietly asked my the HELL my stuff wold be arriving in Rotterdam since I live in SPAIN. And I paid to have my stuff shipped to VALENCIA. When was my stuff going to show up at my door in Valencia, since it was going to be all the way across Europe?

He assured me that they were going to truck it across the several countries between me and Holland and that process would start after it arrived in Rotterdam on June 12th. He as very cheerful. So cheerful that I couldn’t be angry at him because he had nothing to do with the entire thing. And because I need him  – a man with so many vowels in his name that when I email him I have no idea if I’m actually spelling it correctly.

So I filled out the forms he sent me and sent them back. Now I’m waiting – hoping – praying, that our stuff will actually get to Rotterdam. A city I never wanted it to go to. And that the richly voweled guy will take care of it and get it here, so I can discover whether my couch can be craned into the living room window on the 7th floor.

Here’s the lesson. If you move to another country – store you stuff in your old country. Put it in storage and happily pay for it. Because, when you get to your new country, you will have to buy stuff to get by while you’re waiting for your old stuff to arrive – thus creating duplicate possessions, like a tea pot and a frying pan. So when your stuff, after making it, apparently, through every port between Los Angles and Rotterdam, finally arrives you won’t actually need that crap cause you’ve already bought that crap – again.

After all this, I swear if that couch doesn’t fit through the window I’m going to put it out on the sidewalk and just sleep there. It will be summer – if they’re not lying and it gets here by July 1st. I could live off the orange trees lining the street. The weather will be lovely, and I might just meet more of my neighbors and make some new friends. I’ll put my feet up, watch YouTube videos on my phone and drink some Sangria on the sidewalk. The street cleaners can wake me in the morning when they come around. But I’ll have earned it. I will have waited 4 months for that couch – too large though it might very well be. But its mine, and perhaps, like me, a little worse for wear but still, all mine.

Hello Barcelona

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Just a quick trip up to Barcelona to pick up Emilie.  She’s out of school in the US and here for the summer. This morning she’s still out like a light, after delayed flights out of Lexington for weather, and then a couple hours of mechanical difficulties in Chicago. I was happy to see her come out of baggage claim at BCN, at last.

This meant that our early morning train tickets from Valencia to Barcelona-Sants were much earlier than they needed to be. But we took full advantage of the extra time to see some stuff close to the train station, and of course, the royal wedding.

I remember watching Lady Diana and Prince Charles getting married when I was in high school. In our neighborhood on the West Coast of the US, we all got up in the middle of the night and watched our first images of a real-life princess marrying her prince. It didn’t work out so well. But when they announced her son was getting married, I was excited because I would be in a more acceptable time zone – eating lunch.

Emilie’s flight landing was supposed to be right in the middle of it – so I thought I would miss it. But as fate would have it, all the delays out of the US meant we were able to sit at the top terrace of the museum steps above Plaza de Espanya (Catalonya has turned their bull ring in the plaza into a mall) and watch the pre-game. And Jeff found us a nice cozy cafe in which to have lunch, drink champagne (he got a nice sized beer) and celebrate the nuptials while watching the live stream.

Holy Moly – that preacher they chose shook things up. I’m not a religious person but sometimes, when I lived in San Francisco, I went to a church that helped the homeless in the Tenderloin district. The minister, Cecil Williams, was famous for his rousing sermons and pleas of ‘Can I get an Amen?’. Very different than my staid, stoic Lutheran upbringing. So this royal wedding minister’s sermon was way more Glide Memorial than Church of England. The looks on some faces in the peanut gallery were priceless. I almost let out a spontaneous ‘Hallelujah’ or two myself.

Most people care about the facinators and the dresses. I was looking at the guest’s feet. Their choice of footwear with their outfits was the most interesting part. And I understand they handed out slippers at the reception so even the most daring guests, with feet shod in artistic tools of torture, could continue to enjoy the festivities.

Even our waiter was interested in the action. He asked me if that was my friend’s wedding I was watching. I said ‘Yes. The British Royal Family and I are very, very close. But I had to pick up my daughter at the airport in Barcelona so, sadly, I missed being there in person. They totally understood.’

At first, he thought I was serious. Then Jeff asked him if he’s heard of the Royal Wedding. He hadn’t and left to get our drinks. Jeff shook his head.

‘Does this guy live in a hole?’ he asked.

Perhaps he was right. This guy might be the only person in the world who hadn’t heard about it, but I found this amusing since Jeff cares about a wedding, royal or otherwise, not at all. But he knew I was going to be disappointed to miss it before we learned that Em’s flight was delayed. The universe put the puzzle together.

The train trip from Valencia to Barcelona takes a little over 3 hours. It was super comfy and the views of the Mediterranean are renowned. We passed by Tarragona each way, where we were originally going to settle in Spain. I still love it and perhaps we’ll end up there – or own a weekend property. But I just love Valencia. The people and the town still hold me in their grip.

We’re back home this morning, enjoying perfect weather after our quick adventure to Barcelona. And we have more sites on our list for next time. Until then.

Oh My God!!

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It’s probably not as bad as all that. But now that we have wheels – only two really – we are mobile. Seems like that would be a good thing. Driving ourselves to where ever we want to go. We’re free wheelin’ now. Ha!!

No more constrained by where the Valensibi bikes can take us. No more taxi charges. The Metro is great but it only goes so many places. Now we can go to Shopping City and we’re not constrained by the hours (or siestas) of the IKEA bus. We were so excited and then we discovered The Spanish Round About.

Now in the US, our use of round abouts is more limited but has grown over the last 10 years. So, as a people, we’ve been forced to come to terms with their use. Not so hard. You just pull up to the roundabout, wait for it to be clear to enter, get into it and get out. Easy. One lane in, one lane out. Civilized.

On our ride across Western Europe last week, we found the round abouts of France and Germany to be much the same. No problem. Then we hit Spain. I could hear Jeff ‘s screaming inside his helmet, all the way in my helmet – through layers of padding and a hard shell to keep out sound. It didn’t inspire confidence while clinging to the back of the motorcycle he was controlling.

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This image is how NOT to do a round about. The blue car is doing it right. The Green car is doing it right. The red and yellow cars? Yeah, not so much. And here’s the thing. In our experience, nearly everyone is a red or yellow car. OMG!!!

If you look at the image – and it’s pretty accurate in most round abouts, there are two lanes entering the round about, but three or four lanes in the round about. Why would there ever be three or four lanes? Doesn’t everyone eventually need to exit the round about? Who would ever need to be in the lanes closest to the center? They would never get out. I’ll tell you who – Jeff.

We got stuck in a round about. Traffic whizzing past and him being afraid of getting hit by the cars careening towards us, weaving in and out of each other as they went around and shot off across multiple lanes of traffic into other streets, nearly taking each other out in the process.

Eventually, we got out and stopped on a side street. His helmet came off.

‘What the HELL?! That’s insane! Did you see that?!!’

I couldn’t believe he was asking me this question. I was still replaying some of the less attractive moments in my life as it had flashed before my eyes just moments ago.

‘We can’t go back into that thing!’ He was hyper ventilating.

‘How are we going to get home? They’re delivering everything by 6.’ I reminded him, but at this point I didn’t really care about that.

He didn’t answer at first. Silence. Then he put his helmet back on and typed some stuff on to the GPS. Apparently there was no ‘Avoid Spanish Round About’ setting. He had to go back into the belly of the beast. He started the bike. I girded my loins – literally – I practically wrapped my legs around him and prayed.

He had 4 round abouts to navigate before we were home free on a straight away near our apartment. This is what we learned.

  1. Stay to the outside – at least you can get out.
  2. Just because you are on the outside, doesn’t mean someone won’t come careening from your left (it’s guaranteed to happen) and cut you off or take you out.
  3. When you exit the round about in the right lane, onto the right lane of the road you’re getting off on, you’ll need to immediately get over because you’ll be in the transit/taxi only lane. (why do they allow cars to exit into this lane in the first place? Who knows?)
  4. Never, ever get into the center of the round about unless you can get super aggressive and be willing to fight your way to the outside.
  5. Never, ever listen to your GPS. Garmin software is a pack of lies and will lead you somewhere you don’t want to go. (maybe this is an exaggeration, but I don’t think it is.)

We made it home. The stuff got delivered and we’re ready when Emilie get’s here on Saturday. But, like almost every other time we’ve gone out to Shopping City – we have forgotten a few things and will need head back there before the week is up. That IKEA bus is looking pretty good right now..

Before this week, I would have told you I didn’t need driving lessons. Its stupid we have to take a test and do hours of driving lessons. We already know how to drive – been doing it for years. But now, after the last few days, I’m pretty sure we are 100% in agreement that we need them. No way am I driving here without them. Spain 1 v. Us 0.

Siesta is the Besta

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In the spirit of recovery and a change of scenery, Jeff arranged an excursion to Alicante. It’s a medium sized city south of Valencia just two hours by the slow train. It’s a great way to travel. The towns in between are sleepy and the ride is smooth enough that if a nap is in order, then a nap one shall have.

We got to Alicante on the early train and were able to check into a hotel before lunch. They put us on the 24th floor overlooking the castle and the sea, so the views were spectacular. The harbor was at our feet and Santa Barbara Castle was right off the balcony.

We got some breakfast and then I promptly fell asleep until 5pm. I’m fully embracing the Spanish Siesta in my convalescence. Jeff went out for provisions for a make shift dinner and allowed me to rest for the rest of the evening. The views from the window were enough to keep me happy. The sky, the castle and the sea. Sublime.

Santa Barbara castle at night

The next morning we awoke to a spectacular sunrise coming over the horizon. On my Camino last year, I saw one nearly every morning as I would leave the Albergues when it was still dark. This is one of the first Spanish sunrises I’ve seen since then and it didn’t disappoint. We sat on the balcony and had some coffee and just stared at the sea.

Sometimes I have to pinch myself that I’m living here. It can be easy to focus on the things that are more difficult. But sitting there looking out at the sea, I thought how much I wanted to enjoy that one moment. Yesterday is gone – tomorrow is unknown. That moment was perfect and I’ll never forget how beautiful the light was.

Jeff wanted to take a look at the Volvo Ocean Race museum in the harbor. It’s the largest round the world ocean race under sail, and it starts in Alicante every 3 years and the head quarters is there too. We learned a lot about the history of the race in the UK and it’s eventual move to Spain. Very impressive and we’re already making plans to ensure we’re in one of the ports when they come in. Brutal conditions but what competitors! Inspiring.

We had decided to tour the castle before heading back to Valencia on the train. Looking up at it, I thought two things. ‘How the hell am I going to get up there?’ and ‘If I get up there, how the hell am I ever going to get down?’ Well, like most things here – it was well thought out and organized. Honestly, the Spanish do not want for serious structural or civil engineering and creative problem solving.

Always a Festival - Alicante

Seriously, though, there is an elevator bored in the mountain, upon which the castle sits. You buy your tickets at the bottom and walk through a very long tunnel. They’ll take you right up into the castle keep in a scary elevator, where you walk through another tunnel to see the spectacular views of the bluest sea.

Or – you can walk up the side of the mountain like a mountain goat. Or on a causeway that is reminiscent of the Great Wall of China. You’ll save 2,70 Euros but you’ll get a work out and sunstroke. Always an upside. The elevator will take you back down onto the main street when you’re done.

At the top, there is a cafe. We stopped to have lunch and enjoy the views. The contrast between the yellow stone walls and the deep blues of the Mediterranean Sea were well worth it. The palm trees blowing in the breeze. Lovely. And, of course, it wouldn’t have been complete without a lady in traditional garb posing for photos. We have no idea what this was about but her clothes were reminiscent of the Fallas dresses we saw back in March in Valencia.

There were languages from all over the world spoken at every turn. I had never heard of Santa Barbara Castle before, but apparently, it’s quite famous far and wide. Hand rails were thin on the ground, and at several points it was easy to see how rambunctious kids, or adults not paying attention, could go over the edge. There were signs prohibiting selfie sticks – and then people standing next to said signs with their selfie sticks, doing what? Oh yeah, taking photos right at the edge with them. Duh.

Jeff has dubbed this country as ‘Spain – a place where you just have to use your common sense or you’ll die.’ I think he likes the idea of natural selection taking those without it out of the gene pool. He’s kinder than he sounds, but we go to plenty of places full of tourists doing stupid things and he’s a little fed up. In the US they idiot proof nearly everything – and look where we are, so perhaps he has a point!

It was a beautiful day and the train back was great. The train stations here are very clean, compared to the US. And well organized. I’m so impressed. We sat on the other side of the train on the way home, so we got to see both sides. Jeff began to point out castle ruins on the hill tops above the town. I think he’s caught the bug. I’m so glad – because I’d like to become a castle aficionado while living in Europe. There are so many varying kinds, from so many different periods and styles. Some clearly built and rebuilt based on their stone wall strata – that I’m not sure we’ll ever get bored.

Anyway, it was a lovely quick trip. One filled with naps, views and history. Three of my favorite things.

Working out the Kinks

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Whenever you move – even if it was just in the US – you have kinks to work out. They’re are always issues and hiccups. But moving to Spain, with time differences, foreign banking and the like, it’s even more hiccupy.

We’re taking deep breaths. A lot of deep breaths. And it’s not just about how different things are here. We seemed to have worked out many of those. Sometimes it comes down to telling yourself it’s different and you just have to deal with it. Great – we can do that. But for things back in the US where there is a time difference, and it requires expensive phone calls at a $1 a minute, it’s incredibly frustrating.

We had put travel notices on our credit cards, but some of them have experienced denials and delays because of the sheer volume of purchases we’re making for things, and at stores we wouldn’t normally shop at if we were just tourists. How many people buy a refrigerator when they’re staying at a hotel on a beach for their spring break?

But now, Amazon doesn’t seem to like us since we’re shipping to a place we’ve never shipped to. And our billing address is also not something they’ve seen before. Discovering that .com and .es versions of their website are totally different and Prime in the US isn’t Prime in Spain. This was hard for Jeff to swallow as I heard swearing and heavy typing from his office.  Both our bank and Amazon want to send him a code via email to verify his identity. He’ll have 10 minutes to input it before it becomes invalid. But it takes them more than 15 to send the code. He is not happy.

I, on the other hand, got an email from American Airlines that they’ve bumped our daughter off her flight from school to Spain. And trying to fix this via email or chat? Yeah, not gong to happen. So I had to call them and racked up even more phone charges as I waded through the automated menu shouting ‘Customer Service!’ into their voice recognition software. I found that ironic.

Then the dealer where we sold our car before we left, hasn’t deposited our check. They said it would take two weeks and it’s been nearly 4. Ugh. Rattling cages in the US from a foreign country is an expensive, time-consuming, and frustrating business.  I’m just writing off this first month. It’s like being hazed at a fraternity or sorority in college. Sure none of it makes any sense. You’re dealing with unreasonable people, nonsense bullshit, but if you’re drunk, it makes it go down easier. Aha! I haven’t tried that. Note to self.

Oh well, it’s Fallas. Starting tomorrow we’ll be jumping into the festival of it all and embracing our new city. We’ve been here two weeks now. Only two more to go and I figure we’ll have been through one full billing cycle for all the loose ends back home and the new ones here. Then its smooth sailing. Yeah right.  Just kidding.

A Place to Lay My Head

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We finally got to Valencia late last evening. Our day had been 35 hours long, including a near riot in the Madrid Airport over cancelled flights, perceived line cutting and general injustice by some of the passengers. The general mayhem and lack of anyone in charge only added to the seeming thirst for blood. To say it was a crazy day is an understatement.

I filmed the chanting and fist pounding that gained steam over the hours we stood in line to get re-booked on a later flight. I understood none of the ‘Protest Spanish’ I heard, but I started singing ‘We shall overcome’ under my breath until Jeff gave me ‘that look’ so I stopped.

Spain is an interesting country already.

‘Now this is why we moved here.’ said Jeff with a smile, looking around.

Only he could muster enthusiasm after being awake for 30 hours at that point. Watching the cast of characters with great interest.

Finally, we landed in Valencia and made it to our new apartment. Linda, our savior, was there to greet us with the keys and hugs.

‘How are you still smiling after all this?’ she asked. ‘You truly have had the hardest time with the visa stuff, and now this. Crazy.’

I just laughed. ‘What choice do we have?’  She agreed, we had none.

The airline (I hate American Airlines forever now) had lost one of our checked bags, but at least we had 4 of them, so we got them up to the flat and Jeff got to see where he’d be living from now on. Remember, we came from a house that was 4500 sq. feet. He’s used to manicured lawns, gardening service, a pool guy. His face said it all and he swiftly dubbed it ‘The Compartment’.

‘I don’t think you can really call it an ‘apartment’ cause it’s so small.’

Clearly, he didn’t live where I did in college. But we unpacked and found that our luggage had been gone through by persons unknown. One of whom had left me her old, grungy tennis shoes and made off with a pair of my Louboutins. She should be easy to spot. The baggage handler in the high heels with the red soles. Black soul, more like.

Also missing, were some of my kids’s pictures, a bathing suit, some jeans and a few other things, including my thyroid medication and asthma meds. I sat on the ground, because we have not one stick of anything to sit on, and I couldn’t speak. I felt totally violated. This is all we have – until some larger things come on the boat. But this is the precious stuff. And someone rummaged through it.

I managed to get it together, as Jeff talked me off a ledge. We were already missing a bag that never made it out of the Miami Airport. Now this. Jeff tried to inflate the air mattress, but the converters didn’t actually convert and they caught fire. Yes, in the first 30 minutes in our apartment, our beds caught fire! The place was filled with smoke. The cherry on the shit sundae of our day.

‘Screw the air mattresses. We’re going to a hotel.’ And he took me across town, to the place I stayed when I came alone in November, on my scouting trip. We had dinner at 11pm in the hotel restaurant and hit the hay. But I woke up at 2 and couldn’t get back to sleep.

I kept thinking. ‘Why have we come all this way? Why would we put ourselves in a position to be robbed? What the hell are we doing?’

My crying woke Jeff up and he stayed up with me until 5am, before we both fell back to sleep. At 9:30, breakfast and coffee helped get me upright because we had a busy day ahead.

Linda met us and took us, first to register at the town hall. Armed with that paper and some hastily taken passport photos from the train station (not my best face day – Jeff looked like he just got off a Tahitian vacation, damn him!), we went to immigration and applied for our long term visa. The visa they give you at the consulate in LA is only for 3 months. The long term one is applied for here. It will take 3 weeks to get the card and then we’re good to go. But they gave me a white piece of paper that is more precious than gold.

We need the immigration paper to get internet. What?!  Yes, you heard that right. The internet provider wants our immigration paper to decide if we’re really staying in Spain long term – we have a long term lease on a flat – and then they’ll give us internet (maybe next week). This is my first ‘I don’t get it.’ But we have to do it, so we did.

I was a little woozy, standing in line with the other immigrants, but we did it all before noon. Then we decided to truly unpack – headed back to the apartment to face the bags again, get organized (I always feel better after I make a list), make a list of what we need urgently, and headed out to do some shopping. There is a place about 5 miles out of town that has everything. It’s like a giant shopping city. To call it a ‘mall’ is to diminish what this area truly is. It’s massive!

So 4 hours later, and tomorrow they deliver a bed, refrigerator, desk, desk chair (for Jeff), kitchen table and chairs and a few other things. We bought bedding and pillows and kitchen items that will not be coming on the boat in a few months, and we carried them home.

‘Shopping City’ as I’ve dubbed it, has a bus that takes you from the city center out to the big shopping area. IKEA runs it and if you become a ‘Family’ member, it’s free. So we did and actually ate at IKEA before coming back. Free cafe con leche. I’ve never enjoyed a meal more in my life,. Not the fanciest restaurant could compete with it today.

‘IKEA with no sleep, low blood sugar, and after 35 hour day we had yesterday? You’re a brave man.’ I said to Jeff, on the verge of tears for most of our wander through the maze.

‘No. You’ll feel better once we’re settled. We just need to bite the bullet.’

He’s right, and tomorrow – after booking us into the hotel again tonight – we will start to feel like we’re making strides to settle in. So far, we’ve only been yelled at 3 times today for doing things wrong. A bus driver, immigration person, a stranger. We have no idea what they said to us, and that’s a good thing. Perhaps, learning Spanish should be put off for a few weeks, until I feel less fragile. When I wake up and I know where I am and how to get to the bathroom. That’s when I’ll be OK being screamed at in a language I kind of understand.

Wait – What?!?

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The truck showed up at 7:15 pm tonight and then they told me – ‘Yeah, sorry, but we don’t have enough room in the truck for your stuff.’ Am I kidding, you ask? No. Were they kidding, I asked? Sadly, No. Deep breath.

They promised – after spending two hours wrapping our couch and bicycles and inventorying our boxes – to be back ‘Some time tomorrow after we drop off a ‘big load’ 15 miles away.’ Aka – They have no idea what time they’ll be coming back.

I just stood there and looked at them. What can I do? Nothing. I have to let them go away with their big truck and pray they will come back. How this happened, I have no idea. But I did have an indication that it just wasn’t my day.

Jeff got home while they were wrapping our couch. He was late getting home from work and was hungry and ready to go eat. But we had to wait until they left. Finally, we headed down to pick up some Kung Pao chicken and came back to the house to eat off our paper plates.

I dished it up and then I decided to look at my fortune in the cookies in the bag. My philosophy of eating desert first kicked in. I reached in and selected one and SURPRISE!! there was no fortune in mine. Nothing. Apparently, my future is a blank slate upon which, I can write whatever I want. OK, I made that up, but I’m trying to remain positive about everything.

I reviewed my contingency plans, but ultimately, when I wake up tomorrow we will have just 4 days before we fly out. I know it will be just fine, because it has to be.

The Shippers are Coming, The Shippers are Coming!!

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Just like Paul Revere of Revolutionary legend. Yes – we got the word. The shippers are coming today! Everything is ready to go – labeled, numbered, and on the inventory sheet I created. I’ll just hand it to them and off they’ll go.

Again, this is a prime example of how much communication is key to a happy life. I have been begging them for the last 10 days for the exact date and time window they might be here. Apparently, not knowing is ‘very standard’ in this business, until the truck is leaving the stop before yours, to pick up your stuff.

If they had told me that they wouldn’t know anything until 24 hours before, I would have felt less sick to my stomach, and my nightmares and contingency planning wouldn’t be so far along. But they let me know late yesterday that the crew will be here between 5:30-6:30 pm today to get it all. I just spoke to the driver. Blood pressure, officially lower.

Last night, I picked up a rental car at the airport and today I’m all over the last odds and ends. I have wheels now, so going to the post office to ship some precious photos I forgot, to my Mom’s house is easy. And sending our accountant our tax stuff is a piece of cake. And arranging some banking things? No problem, when you can drive. I’m checking it all off the list.

Last night, before getting a car, we weighed our bags. Yeah. They needed more editing. So we’ve made some tough choices, again. I know they have clothes and shoes in Spain or I’d be freaking out right about now.

The assistant I hired in Valencia is setting up our internet, and we’re virtually looking at plans and megabytes and features together. Thank God for WhatsApp.

Friday, Mary Jane (our old truck) will go to her new home with one of Jeff’s co-workers. Then I’ll drop off some of our cups, vacuum cleaner, etc. at Goodwill. Sunday, a guy named Guillermo is coming to get our last TV, which means I’ll miss the finale of ‘Victoria’ on Masterpiece. Ugh. But for all our scheduling and rescheduling – I’ll take it!

Jeff just remarked how much happier I seem, not being a shut-in anymore, with my one fork and coffee mug, and a desperate need to communicate with him when he walks in the door at night. We’re essentially living in our bedroom now – like we’re college students, minus the homemade white lightening and patchouli. But it’s kind of fun. 5 days from now I’ll be picking him up at his office and heading the airport for leg one of our journey to a new life via LA.

Moving Voo Doo

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Ok – My international shippers are giving me acid reflux.  They gave me the estimated window for picking up our stuff about a month ago. Promising to refine the estimate to an actual day, and then further to an actual time. I have neither in my possession right now. I have emailed repeatedly. I’m trying to stay away from my inbox for a few hours to calm down.

Everything we’re shipping is stacked our dining room, so Jeff stops hitting his 6 foot 3 inch head on the light fixture. This includes our bicycles and our couch wrapped entirely in plastic. I lamented that we no longer have anything to sit on, other than our two air mattresses in the bedroom. Our last TV is on a cardboard box in the bedroom until the guy comes to get it on Sunday.

If I had actually met the ‘customer service’ people from our shippers, I would be crafting Voo Doo dolls of them with the old cat hair in our vacuum bag, and some paperclips and old string I found in a drawer. I have no straight pins left, but I found nails in the garage, so I figure this would work in a pinch. Their back pain and migraines would force them towards their inboxes to email the information I require.

Jeff has assured me that we can still use the couch.

‘It’s gonna be moist, but my grandma had her couch covered in plastic for like 40 years, so I”m pretty sure we could sit on it for a few days.’

I declined, since it’s pretty sweaty in Arizona and I’d like to keep the skin on the back of my thighs for later. My confidence in these people isn’t as high as I need it to be. They’re going to be in possession, of all our possessions, for up to 16 weeks. I think my favorite boots actually cried when I closed the box.

I’ve learned to trust strangers on two continents in the last 6 months. I have no choice, I have to. But I don’t have to like it. Those shippers better watch out. I’m a woman with ALOT of time on my hands, until that truck pulls up – please let it by by Friday. And I’m feeling particular crafty in my doll making skills.

Stress Eating for One

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I’m usually incredibly disciplined. I only eat protein in the morning. I do my yoga after lunch a high protein lunch, and I walk at least 6 miles every night – if not more, and other work outs. But these last few days here, I’ve thrown my entire routine out the window.

I’ve peaked too soon. There isn’t enough to do while waiting for our international shippers to pick up our stuff. I don’t have a car, so I’m house bound with all the bad influences – daytime TV.

My favorite gluten-free short bread cookies (I can’t get them in Spain) have been nearly my constant companion. They literally melt when they come in contact with your tongue. I’m drinking more wine, because, well I need to get rid of it – wink wink. And since there is no real food in our house, except microwave popcorn and jello? They’ve become part of the 3 food groups I’m sticking to. Carbs, Carbs, Carbs.

What is wrong with me? I’m never like this. But I can’t seems to stay away from this stuff. I did try to ‘work out’ by wrapping all our boxes in Saran wrap. Who knows if they’ll get wet on a boat. The chances of that seem higher than in our living room.

It’s Saturday and Jeff’s home today. Sadly, he’s seen my pitiful new routine and suggested we might walk to the store and purchase something that didn’t start it’s life as sugar cane or on a corn stalk. He actually walked me through the store by the elbow, suggesting healthy food!

‘Hey – that’s my job.’ I said with a frown and dragging my feet like a toddler.

He just shook his head and put my ‘usual’ sustenance in the the basket. Walking back, he teased out some of what’s been bothering me.

‘I’ve moved on from the worries about getting the visa. Now I’m worried we won’t be able to access our banking from there and then what will happen?’

‘So you’re substituting your fears for the overarching fear of the unknown.’ he said calmly.

I stopped in the desert on the way home and stared at him.

‘Who are you? Dr. Phil?’

‘No. But I’ve known you a long time. You’re good at worrying about things you can control. The other stuff, you sort of push off until they come around into your orbit again. That’s how going to Spain is for you. You have no idea what to be worried about so you’re choosing something tangible.’

My mouth hung open. ‘Am I that transparent?’

He smiled and hesitated. ‘Uh. Yes.’

Damn it! I hate it when he does that.

‘OK smart guy. Why am I eating only popcorn, cookies, jello and wine?’

He laughed. ‘The wine I don’t get, cause I’m not a big wine drinker. But who doesn’t like jello, cookies and popcorn?’

He’s right, of course. I am stressing over things I’ve checked and rechecked. Things I’ve created back doors for and contingency plans. It’s going to be OK, but because I’ve peaked too soon and I’m home bound, I only obsess about stuff all day.

Jeff had a remedy and today I rented a car for all next week until we leave. I’ll have wheels again. I can go out into the world and avoid looking the four walls that have been closing in on me. As of today, the stress eating is officially over. Yoga classes and the gym are back in my schedule until we leave. 8 days until we fly out and I’ll avoid gaining 5lbs. before that.