Tag: europe

And Then They Came For Me

vivaespanamovingtospain

Back in the summer of 2016 the world was going a little nuts. We all remember it. One sunny morning I was sat in my office in the US, when one of the smartest people I have ever worked with entered knocking on the door frame.

‘You saw it, didn’t you?’ she asked, leaning into the doorway as I was behind my desk.

I knew instantly what she was talking about. But we were likely the only two people in the entire building who took note of it.

‘Yes. I saw it.’ I told her, disgusted.

‘Can you believe it? Are they crazy?’ she asked me.

I just shook my head. ‘Lunacy. The world is losing its mind.’

And it was in 2016. Well, it still is. But now we all see it, right? Hmmm. Anyway. Back on that summer morning it was all about how Great Britain had voted to leave the EU. Somehow, Nigel Farage and Boris Johnson had wormed their way into the brains of otherwise relatively sane citizens in the UK, convincing them that they needed to leave the EU so they could go back to measuring things in Imperial gallons, pounds, cups and teaspoons, instead of metric litres and milliliters and grams like the rest of the world – except the US <she rolls her eyes>. WHAT!? This referendum was never supposed to pass! We all thought this was impossible, but then it happened. What now? What happens with the Good Friday Agreement with Ireland? Was anyone thinking of that? Breathe, Kelli. Not my circus. Not my monkeys.

Other than the obvious geopolitical implications of this seismic diplomatic earthquake, did it really matter to me? The two passports I held wouldn’t be impacted by this in the slightest. The UK wasn’t fully in the EU anyway. Yes, they led the bloc on many matters, big and small, but they had never adopted the currency or the immigration flow. They were not in the Schengen zone. So the 90 day rule for me traveling there would still reign. Whatever. I had bigger fish to fry in my country who was about to elect a monster of its own. It would take years before I might care even a little bit about Brexit.

Inching Closer

In 2018 we moved to Spain. The British expats we knew in Spain were still debating the referendum to leave the EU two years after. And it was heated. This vote had torn families apart. It had destroyed long standing friendships. In other words, it was a nightmare. But I understood nightmares because we had the same with the MAGA thing in the US. My own family hosts a MAGA supporter who laughed at us all back then, scoffing at our fears and outrage of what could happen. And then he learned that the not-so-funny joke was on him.

My British friends had families who had to sell their houses here because of Brexit. The consequences were getting closer to us. It was sad. Of course, I mostly stayed out of these debates about Brexit. Yes, I thought anyone who voted for it should have an immediate MRI or CT scan of their brain, but I also understood how disinformation can worm it’s way into people’s subconscious. And how FB contributed to this outcome – in Britain and the US.

Living in Europe, we followed the news on the negotiated exit and the chaos of the UK government and ‘hard Brexit’. Burning it all down seemed to be a feature, not a bug. It was like watching a slow motion train crash. You could see it coming from a long way off, but no amount of shouting from the EU warning the Brits of impending disaster could stop their eventual self-inflicted wounds. <she shakes her head, yet again>

But, what did I care? Even after ‘Brexit’ finally happened in 2021, it didn’t really impact me. Except for things we ordered on Amazon. We stopped buying anything from the UK. It always took longer and sometimes it never arrived. There is a whole world to purchase from. Why the UK thought they were the only show in town was beyond me.

Wait What?!

So Brexit seemed like someone else’s problem. Until it was my problem. The rolling shit show of Brexit just keeps on giving. From afar, it might seem like Brexit already happened. But there you’d be wrong. The Brexit negotiated by the UK was more of a slow-rolling dumpster fire or a really bad divorce. Or a combo of both. They wanted to get rid of anything having to do with the EU, but it was more complicated than they thought. As a result, they cut off their nose to spite their face – as grandma used to say. And they insisted that all trading with the EU would be under their rules. Creating unprecedented bureaucracy, and that is saying something. Brits were ‘taking back control’ after all. And this meant friction at every turn. British companies wanting to import goods from the continent would find it had become so costly and cumbersome that the EU didnā€™t want to trade with them. This was supposed to mean that British farmers would make more money as their produce would be first to market. Except, the cost of producing food in the UK has skyrocketed since leaving the EU.

It turns out that growing tomatoes in an English winter doesn’t really work. Growing anything in winter in the UK is rather a stretch. And they wouldn’t have the workers from Eastern Europe to pick their crops anyway because they ditched free movement. Hmmm, it sounds like the US’s problem, too. But I digress. The Brits need produce grown by southern EU countries. But with their new ‘taking back control’ policies, importing tomatoes, and anything else perishable, isn’t profitable for EU growers. So the UK can’t get cheap EU fruit and veg or French cheeses like before. And there are a hundred other examples of how this just keeps getting worse.

The new mounting paperwork checks needed expensive new shiny IT systems. But the UK government implemented these policies and left Britain and the EU without the ability to process this ridiculous paperwork electronically. They branded the EU bullies, but they did it to themselves as the EU leadership’s jaws dropped at how insane it all was. The EU gave the UK all kinds of extensions, even when the UK government didn’t want them. But this year, the EU has implemented the asked for Brexit importation agreement. And now I can finally hop into this Brexit debate because the Brits have royally screwed me!

Throw The Book At Me

As most of the readers of this blog know, seven months of the year I stamp pilgrim passports at my gate for Pilgrims walking past on their way to Santiago de Compostela. And, as I am doing this I sell copies – a lot of copies – of my book, as well. It’s great! But I have to order those books from the publisher in the UK. That is where they are printed. And now? Do. Not. Get. Me. Started.

This weekend I was notified that my latest shipment of 500 books are stuck in customs because, unlike last year, I have to jump through paperwork HELL due to Brexit customs rules. Wait, What?! I’m not British. I didn’t vote for this stupid thing. But no. I reached out to the printer in the UK and they told me I now have to supply a mountain of paperwork to get my books. What half of these forms are for, I have no idea. I must write them a letter to tell them the story of what I am doing with these books – what?!? – and why they are vital for me to receive them. I have to explain that people, wait for it, read books? Not kidding. In a letter. As in ‘Dear Customs Person’. Seriously. Is this 1824, instead of 2024? What is the publishing industry in the UK going to be reduced to?

It’s taken weeks to get this far. I kept trying to track my shipment but it’s stuck in the UK. I reached out to the publisher and asked for help. They are trying to find a different printer in Italy so I never have to go through this again. Apparently, my situation of selling an English language book in Spain is somewhat unique. But still. Hopefully, I will never have to order books from the UK, ever again. But it makes me think. As voters, we sometimes just fly through our ballots. Often, we don’t do the math and extrapolate the far-reaching consequences of our vote – just ‘going with our guts’ or voting based on anger at some shadowy group or policy weā€™ve been whipped up about. Or itā€™s a ā€˜protest voteā€™ against rather than for something. But this vote in the UK, nearly seven years ago, in a country far from me at the time, is now impacting my business. And I’m mad as hell about it.

The UK used to be one of the business and financial centers of the world. But from where I sit they look like diminished fools. I’ve said it before, you can mess with me all day long, but if you mess with my money we’re going to have a problem. And these Brexit court jesters and their antics in the UK aren’t so financially funny anymore. Because now they’ve come for me and my wallet. And Iā€™m just not having it.

Take It To The Bank

vivaespanamovingtospain

Our six year anniversary of arriving in Spain is fast approaching. I have been thinking a lot about the most important things we’ve learned in all that time. I even wrote about it recently. The housekeeping of deciding to live in rural Spain. But there are other things, as well. Things you have to experience. More subtle stuff that you can’t explain to anyone who hasn’t lived it themselves, yet.

Moving here, the two year mark is the first hurdle. If you make it two years, after you’ve done your first visa renewal and filed your taxes, you have a decision to make. Will you stay or will you go? Is this life in Spain really for you? Have you learned enough espaƱol to get by? Are you ready to get out of reaction/temporary mode to everything new and move into living mode? Are you prepared to stop complaining about how different everything is and recognize that this is just how you live now? If not, it’s time to go somewhere else.

You Got People

We have lived in two different places in Spain – Valencia and Palas/Melide – for three years each. And it’s at that three year mark that seems to matter. Not just with us but with the people living near us. When we left Valencia our neighbors next door came over and cried, hugging us. It took two years before they believed we were really staying. And in that final year, we were finally invited in to light off fireworks with their children during Fallas. To help us with medical things. To drive Jeff to pick up our car on the A3. They didn’t know we were leaving Valencia, but they knew we weren’t leaving Spain. And, thus, we were worth the investment of friendship. And I completely get it. Why spend time with people who are not staying?

And now, we have lived here on the farm for almost three years. And it’s finally starting to happen here, too. Yes, Maricarmen embraced us right out of the gate, but other neighbors are doing so now, as well.

I walk from Melide to our house 7-8 km, four to five times a week. I’m in training. More on that later. But it takes me forever to get home and Jeff scratches his head as to why. On our way Fergus is an ambassador. I might appear unremarkable, but not Fergus Black– as they call him. So everyone on the route remembers us. I am now invited to enjoy a coffee on my way with people I didn’t know this time last year. Women wave to me from their gardens or kitchen windows. I am stopped at the dragon ducks – as Jeff and I call this farm – for a chat with the grandparents of the people who own a restaurant in town, and who own the local milk truck. An old man who walks his dog is often sat on a rock, and he chats me and Fergus up as the dogs sniff each other.

People hug me and give me double cheek kisses. They ask after Jeff, and I ask after their spouses and grandchildren, before they wave us goodbye until the next day. I like that people stop to chat. No one is hurrying around. The garden or the dishes can wait. I feel seen here. Like my presence matters.

On the way home I pass my housekeeper, Chus’s house. I think she sees me go past sometimes. Last weekend, she sent me photos of her hiking group hiking through local megaliths. It looked like fun and I told her so. The group photo of the 30+ participants were awash in smiles.

‘You should join us, Kelli.’

So, on March 2nd I am joining the Toques hiking club to go on another of their historical hikes.

Jeff and I were discussing why this is. Why, suddenly, it seems like it’s okay we live here. We aren’t such strangers anymore.

‘It’s because they can count on your presence. They know we are not leaving. And, a few times a week they know that Kelli and Fergus Black will walk by. You’re predictable.’

He’s right. I go to the grocery store now and I see so many people I know. They smile and wave. Sometimes, their little children do too.

‘Ā”Hola! Kelli.’ in their little-kid Spanish. I wish I spoke as well as a three year old.

New Kids

Now that we have lived in Spain all these years (that sounds strange, but it’s true), it can be difficult to relate to people who have just arrived. Not that we don’t understand what they are going through. Or how difficult the adjustment can be. We have lived it. We know. But, it’s that we find ourselves in the same boat as Spaniards. Will they stay? How much are you willing to invest in someone who won’t be here next year? And, I’ll admit, now that we live here permanently, it can be difficult to hear people complain about the country in which you have chosen to live. Their current concerns have been lost to mists of time, and are no longer your concerns. I know the bureaucracy is HELL! Even Spaniards know this. Our neighbors are furious for us with the food truck. But, sometimes it wears on me when so many conversations turn to this amongst english-speakers. Imagine only talking about the nightmare situation in the US while you lived there. You would decline every invitation from your friends back home if that was all they wanted to discuss.

I can talk until I am blue in the face about how this thing or that thing will pass. I can give advice, and tell them not to worry so much. But, they don’t know what they don’t know. And they can’t know it until they’ve lived it. I get it. It will be years before they sit where I sit now.

The other day, I was having lunch with an American friend. We were discussing this very thing. She has been here several years, as well, and we were talking about how we’re in a different place than the new expats we meet. It can be tedious, especially when they insist they know, when you know their information is going to get them into a heap of trouble, if they rely upon it. More and more, I keep my mouth shut. My own wise counsel. Not everything requires a response. Even answering questions on expat FB forums isn’t something we are focused on anymore. There is a search function on FB. They can get the answers they need, without our comments, if they want them.

It Takes Three Years

The three year mark in any one place is when you get people wherever you live in Spain. Spanish people. Especially if you try to learn espaƱol. We are convinced of it. Until then, it can feel lonely. But having people is everything here. And, after six years, that is wisdom you can take to the bank.