Tag: lists

What if we ever needed…3/4 of an Inch

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Hell froze over today. Well, since it’s so bloody hot and humid I sort of wish it actually did, but our stuff ARRIVED at 1pm today. It actually came with a phone call and three guys who could not have been nicer. I paid for their lunch afterwards. I’m not a person who has ever held a grudge. Don’t have time for it so all that nonsense was in my rear view mirror 30 seconds after the first dolly load crossed our door step.

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They found parking and unloaded in record time. As planned, we had them bring all the boxes and bikes up to our apartment and we put the sofa in our parking space in the garage. We needed to measure it before I schedule the crane service. I was on cloud nine watching them go back and forth. Emilie stayed down by the truck to make sure no one made off with any boxes while the guys were filling the lobby.

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Seeing our things again was like reconnecting with old friends. And unpacking was so much fun!  All my kitchen stuff that was of such interest to US Customs and Border control made it with only one glass pot lid that was shattered.  All my Le Creuset – check. More of my Crate and Barrel dishes – yup. All our flatware and my box of odds and ends kitchen stuff. My beloved Vitamix made it. Jeff checked the amperage (I don’t even pretend to understand it) and it works on the electricity here. We just have to take it to a local place to get the plug/cord swapped out.

My pans are here too! And our golf clubs and bikes. Jeff’s computer stuff and his keyboard that he’s been waiting for. All the tools for his first love – the motorcycle. We spent the day unpacking boxes and washing things. Our bedding from home – sheets and towels that we could have bought locally but we loved them too much to leave behind. Then there were the more sentimental things. The things that, when you surround yourself with them, make you feel like you’re truly home.

Our refrigerator magnet collection from trips we took as a family. Jeff always hated how junky it made it look in an open plan kitchen. I loved the reminder of all the things we did together. Tonight, I put them all on the fridge and he came home and smiled. Emilie and I had fun reminiscing about each one and telling funny stories about where they were purchased and some crazy thing that happened.

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The pictures came. Our wedding photo and some of the art that we had on the walls. Emilie unpacked the boxes in her room and it’s just about like it was in the US – only 5 times smaller. Her books, photos and all the small things that mean so much to her.

I unpacked the vacuum packed bags of our clothes and it seems we brought more than I remembered. I appears my ‘What if we ever…?’ philosophy might have gone a little too far. OK, if we ever go to Iceland again I have my Canada Goose parka and Jeff’s Mountain Hardwear parka. But living here I don’t think there will be a day that we’ll need either of those.

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My most egregious and embarrassing miscalculation was my discovery that I had 5 full boxes of shoes that were just for me. Luckily, Jeff had run an errand when I pulled them out of the pile in the dining room. Yeah, I knew I had a problem anyway but today it was in my face and before Jeff got home I needed to find somewhere for 5 boxes of shoes in El Compartimiento. But where to put them? The only place I had to spare was in the kitchen Gabinete and I knew the minute he got hungry I’d be ratted out. Emilie just shook her head but she wasn’t one to talk. She had 2 boxes of shoes for herself – OK, I’m a baaad influence.

So I started pulling out drawers and cabinets. I was sweating and panicked. What the hell was I going to do? I looked around and then I remembered we have drawers under the bed we bought. And those drawers are mostly covered by the duvet. I knew Jeff was barely using his closet so he wouldn’t even think about the drawers under the bed. Sure enough, they were empty. But as I placed my shoes, boots and sandals lovingly into their new, hidden home, I started counting and, well, I’m just ridiculous. Who needs 5 pairs of high suede boots here? I brought 3 pairs of rubber boots!  What was I thinking?

But that isn’t the capper. Tonight we went down to the garage after I was done unpacking the rest of the stuff and putting it away. I was feeling pretty proud of myself and my ability to cram things in every nook and hidden crannies. Organizing things for easy access later. Winter closet, stored. Yup, I was at the top of my organizational game. I hadn’t over packed afterall. I was a ‘just enough’ goddess.

I got into the elevator with a confident smug swagger that only a truly organized person pull off. Then we measured.

My beloved couch is 43 3/4 inches deep. I don’t care about the height because it passed that test. Our living room window is broken up into sections that are 43 inches. Not 44 inches – 43. And they can’t get any bigger, even if you take the windows out, because of the custom shutters that come down in tracks. So my couch won’t fit. So we went down and took all the wrapping from the move off and I actually talked to the couch.

‘Please couch – I know you’ve been through alot in the last 5 months but I need 3/4 of an inch – that’s all. Please give me 3/4 of an inch.’ I begged and pleaded.

Jeff measured again. I don’t think the couch was very forgiving after spending months in a container ship. It didn’t give up a millimeter. There will be no couch (at least not one from the US) inside El Compartimiento. With every victory, there is also defeat. I had gotten a little cocky with the shoes.

Tonight, Jeff is sporting his Keens, he’s smiling in a fresh pair of shorts and a shirt he hasn’t worn since February. That’s good enough for me.

Sometimes

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Moving to Valencia was made easier, I’m convinced, because we left Seattle two years earlier for Arizona. I had taken a new job knowing it wasn’t the end of the line. So we were out of our comfort zones for quite awhile before we packed up and moved across the world.

Arizona wasn’t politically our favorite place. We moved there in 2016, and all the guns, truck nuts and the like were not part of how we saw ourselves. Driving there was scary because you never knew who was packing and they might pull a weapon on you going 100 miles an hour on the freeway. But then everyone drove at least 80 mph on the 17 or the 101 freeway, so 100 wasn’t that much faster. It happened to Jeff while he was in the carpool lane on his motorcycle a couple of months after we got there. That incident started the clock on when we would move.

But even with all of that I still knew how to operate. How to find the Department of Motor vehicles, the paperwork I would need to get my license. Call a Dr. for my daughter and get an appointment. Nothing big but I didn’t have to think about it. I understood the bureaucracy. ‘The System’. I’m thinking about it now.

Sometimes:

  • I wish I had a whole day where I ‘just knew’ and could easily figure it out.
  • I would like to get up in the morning knowing that going outside wasn’t going to present challenges the moment I interacted with other citizens.
  • I’d like to go to the grocery store and find my favorite foods. In the same packages I’m used to.
  • I’d like to get my mail from our US forwarder without paying for a FedEx envelope.
  • I’d like to be able to call on an old medical bill that finally reached me without the hassle of the time difference and the cost before I even get anyone on the phone.
  • I’d like to not have to pay .20 cents a minute to call my bank because they’ve denied a charge on my credit card or an ACH on my bank account because I’m still not in the US even after I’ve asked them to put notes on my account
  • I’d like to just get our stuff from that freaking boat we paid so much money to bring our things from the US – because they’re still not here!
  • I just want to go to that breakfast place we used to go to on weekends in Issaquah – where they knew us and we didn’t even have to order – they just brought it with unlimited coffee refills.
  • I’d like to not feel completely stupid trying to get small things done, being the only person in the room, store, office, that can’t express themselves like I want to.
  • I just want easy, familiar, normal, comfortable.
  • Sometimes…

And then I remember. I love living here. But sometimes it’s still hard. On those days we don’t leave the apartment and we just binge watch NetFlix. Shows filmed in LA or NY. Places we are familiar with and feel comfortable in. It’s like we’re recharging from home so we can go out again tomorrow and tackle it. We’re committed to living here – we’re not moving back. But Sometimes…

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.

Random Crap

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Everyday I learn new things. Most of them are small but this one was sort of large so I thought I would pass this and some of the other stuff we’ve gleaned lately. Because when things are different, it helps to know about them in advance so as to avoid confusion and delay.

I went for my follow up with the surgeon last night, after having the tests in the morning. In the US, the test results are automatically sent to the Dr. who is authorizing and requesting the tests. In Spain, that is not the case. You are sent the results – just like in the US – but you are expected to print the results out and take them to the Dr. He doesn’t have access to your test results for privacy reasons, unless you give him the hard copy.

So Emilie and I went to the appointment and waited – they squeezed us in – and found that I had no way to access the information and that the Dr. was expecting me to bring a hard copy. I was his last appointment of the day so going home to get my ID and password wasn’t an option. So I’ll have to go back for another appointment.

Of course, they apologized to me for my own mistake. The nurse and Dr. felt terrible about it all and I learned something new that I’ll never forget. So there was goodness all around. I told them not to worry.

Today, Jeff and I tried a new grocery store. I have never lived in city with so many different grocery stores so close to our house. In NYC, Chicago, or SF you’d have one choice of grocery store, and it would be very small and very expensive. In Seattle, living in the city was a desert of grocery stores. Although I know that’s changed a bit now with City Target moving in, and some others.

But here is the SuperCor, Carrefour, Super Carrefour, Mercadona, Super Mercat, and now we discovered the Consum. We started noticing Consum’s around the area and they looked like small stores. But while the entrance may look small, there is a HUGE store lurking behind. So we did a big shop there today.

We walked the aisles and it’s now become our favorite store. Why, when there is so much choice in grocery shopping would we choose Consum upon which to bestow our custom? Well, there are a couple of considerations here. Consum wins the award for best layout most resembling a Safeway or QFC (Kroger store) in the US. Things are just where you would expect them to be. That’s a novelty in every other store we’ve shopped in. You might remember my near ‘bleach v. laundry detergent debacle’ of mid-March.

Jeff likes that they have shelves and shelve of different kinds of tostadas. Those little toast things that you use as a tapas delivery system, or in his case, to dip into olive oil grown from ancient trees, for a mid-day snack. He’s become an olive oil and tostada snob, apparently, and shaking up his tostada selection is a top priority. He was in heaven.

They also win the award for most brands I recognize (Kikomon low salt soy sauce) and an ethnic food section that contains stuff I really, really like. Mexican foods, Indian foods, Japanese foods. They’re all there and some new things I’ve never tried. They had us at ‘Ethnic Food’ section. And they have paper towels that resemble the ones I could get back home. Yes, it’s the very, very small little stupid things that matter.

Finally, they win the award for nicest checkers, and since they have an in-store Coffee bar – with really nice staff, too – it’s doubly wonderful.

We came home and Emilie is thrilled that I found Golden Grahams cereal that is one she recognizes too. So we’re all happy. I’ll be adding this to my ‘Lessons Learned’ section under ‘Looking for a little bit of comfort’. Cause right now, familiarity is a high priority on my comfort scale.

The Color of Happy

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Don’t hate me, but I believe I now own the most beautiful grocery trolley every made. Yes, as you can see in the picture, my new yellow, 4 wheeled, grocery trolley is safely ensconced in the foyer of El Compartimiento.  And I couldn’t be more proud.

Grocery Trolley

We woke up today, and headed out early. We used our new Valenbisi bike service to cycle our way to the central city to enjoy a coffee and then do a little shopping at El Corte Ingles. The other day, I had seen a credenza there that might just go in our living room and Jeff and I went back and bought it. It’s being delivered on Thursday.

Next, we went to the kitchen section. We are in desperate need of a silicone spatula (Jeff is pretty sure the perfect one exists) and we needed to check them out. We went up a few floors and came around a corner looking for kitchenware, and there, under a spotlight,  sat my bright yellow trolley from my dreams. I think I heard angels singing. I approached it with the reverence it deserved and found it was 20% off. It’s like it was begging to come home with me, right then.

‘Ditch that horrible Ikea trolley (we can barely call it that, can we?) you bought the first day you got here. Take me home and I’ll never let you down.’ I heard it whisper.

Very sure Barry White was playing in the background. Yes, I could dig it. But we had come to Corte Ingles for other priorities, so Jeff peeled me away from that lemon colored beauty, and we perused the kitchen utensil section. He found the perfect spatula for his grilled cheese sandwiches (Emile would be proud), but he saw me eyeing that bright yellow, 4 wheeled – not 2 wheeled – grocery trolley.

‘We’ll come back after we have lunch at the beach.’ he promised me.  Ugh. I reluctantly agreed and we set off with our spatula and Chromecast Ultra, to round out our media viewing, safely in his backpack.  We cycled to the beach and enjoyed some tapas and refreshments. The marina was, as yet, undiscovered by us and we took full advantage – enjoying an after lunch drink overlooking where they keep those big yachts they race in the Americas cup.  A gorgeous day.

Valencia Marina

Heading home, we nearly missed going back for our bright yellow trolley. It had been a long day. We were a little tired and got plenty of sun. But then we got on the wrong train and ended up having to go back to Colon to get the right train. So since we were already steps away from Corte Ingles outside the Colon Metro station? Well, that trolley was going home with me!

We bought it and went down to the basement Supermercado and bought a bunch of food to put in my new trolley. It’s not Harrods food hall, but it would do to christen her for the inaugural run.  No pulling this trolley. NO WAY!! I’m pushing it on it’s 4 wheels – all the way home.

Getting off the subway and walking on the sidewalk, Jeff chided me a bit for pushing it like a stroller.

‘You know, it would be easier on the uneven pavement if you pulled it. It’s not a stroller.’

I shook my head in disbelief. How could he suggest this?!?

‘I don’t think you get it. It’s got 4 wheels. I can now push it and keep up with everyone pushing their food trolleys in our neighborhood.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m just saying it’s not a kid.’

‘Well, think of it like a food baby.’

He had no comeback for that! We walked in the door and there sat our sad Ikea trolley. It couldn’t hope to compete with my new Yellow, super trolley and it knew it. It just sat there sagging. You could feel it hoping that it hadn’t seen it’s last run to the Mercadona or El Chino. I didn’t promise it anything, but Jeff told me not to get rid of it because we’ll need to do some big grocery runs when we have guests, and we’ll be happy we have it.

But for now, the star of our house is our new Canary Yellow trolley. As I write this I ask myself – What the Hell has become of me!?!

 

Going Postal

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It’s easier to navigate the world with sleep. Last night I got 18 hours of it. I’m not sure how but I went to bed before it got dark and I stayed that way until 8 am. When I woke up, I had no idea where I was and no recollection of actually going to bed. Perhaps my sleep drought is over.

Just in time, too. Our unexpected bank holiday yesterday pushed out some of the list of tasks we needed to accomplish and couldn’t. We went out yesterday hoping to go to the post office to mail our accountant payment for his services and the Correos was closed. That should have been the first indication that it was all down hill from there.

Then the Mercadona was closed and we had no food in the house. Crackers and cheese were pretty much breakfast, lunch and dinner. Not for me because I went to sleep, but for Jeff as he tried to make it to this morning when we hoped the grocery stores would open again.

Today, I was up ready to tackle it all again and our first stop was the Correos – Spanish Post office. We went in and discovered its also part gift shop. You can buy Barbies, Legos and books for both adults and kids. They have benches to sit on and an incredibly wide variety of boxes, envelopes and the like. What they don’t have is a line.

No line at a Post Office? – you might be thinking. I know. Unheard of in the US. It should be snaking around the building with people who are craning their necks to see how far it goes. There should be toe tapping, loud critiques of how ridiculous the system is, and heavy sighs. Employees who hate their jobs and cut you no slack. But not at the Correos near my house. It’s sleek and clean. And well organized.

We entered and I could tell Jeff was already on edge. He doesn’t like post offices at home so this couldn’t be good. We looked for the line but there was just a collection of people, some sitting and others just standing, just waiting. There was a screen they were looking at and I mimed to the gentleman next to me my confusion and asked what I should do – pointing to his chit. I had no idea how he acquired it.

He took me to the kiosk at the front of the store – we had missed it looking for the line. He asked me if I was sending or receiving mail. I pointed away from me and he showed me what buttons to push and out came my chit. Then we just looked up at the screen like everyone else and waited on a bench for our number to flash. Very civilized – no heavy sighs. And Quick!

I’ve notices that this is a common practice here. Get the chit, watch the screen until your number flashes. Easy. If you understand that this is the expectation. I’m starting to catch on.

The one thing we can’t seem to ‘catch on’ to and we’ve looked it up online in every conceivable way, is the bank holiday. Who has the calendar, how to people know there is one coming and what is open/closed when it happens? We’ve been fooled before and Jeff is now determined that we will keep food stocked up at all times in our fridge and pantry – like we’re waiting for apocalypse –  as we might never know when we’ll be caught unawares by another bank holiday.

Yesterday, as we were walking back to our apartment, after getting nothing accomplished because everything was closed, we mentally tallied the number to days that kids have been out of school here since we’ve arrived. We’re pretty sure it’s been about two and half weeks of the 5 weeks we’ve been here. That’s a lot but perhaps its just that we hit it over the Easter/Spring Break and Fallas.

Either way, we’re good to go now. One more every-day-type experience I can check off my list. I can mail things now.  Now if I can just figure out how we get a driving license place to take us (that is in English) and we’ll be ready to go.

Its Official

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Today, we got our Spanish National Identity cards. It’s a big moment that took place in a humble building on the other side of the city, and they’re resting in our wallets now. So we’re good to go until we need to renew our visas in 11 months.

Everything here is a process of doing something, learning you did it wrong, correcting your mistake, then going back and completing it. Hopefully, this requires only one additional round trip. The only thing I’ve done right the first time is getting us our permanent Metro passes. I looked it up, actually had all the documents it said were required on the website, took them all to the Metro station offices and we got our cards then and there. I know the agent was surprised by my baffled look when he handed us our cards. Nothing is ever supposed to be that easy here – and yet it was.

I think it emboldened Jeff. He went online and signed us up for Valencsibi – the bike ride sharing service that is a whole 36 euros a year. In three weeks time, when our cards come, we’ll be able to ride bikes all over the city, like the locals. Valencia is the most bike friendly city I’ve ever encountered. Bank paths are down every major thoroughfare and soon we’ll be taking advantage of them. Riding to the river and down to the beach.

These small wins are starting to add up and it’s helping my peace of mind. Slowing down and cutting myself some slack has happened organically.  And has come just in time. Moving to another country is stressful. We aren’t surrounded by a big family that might insulate us from every single thing that is different or new starting right outside our front door.

Expectations I had before coming here are all gone. Now it’s just a matter of getting up and just experiencing things. We can’t anticipate or control. And letting go of the need for either of these things is starting to make for a happier life. For both of us.

Standing at the immigration building today, I realized it’s only been a month since we were in that line the last time. ONE MONTH.  In so many ways, it feels like a year. We’ve accomplished a lot since then. Things aren’t so foreign as they were before and going back to a place I had been before on that first day, helped me realize that we’re OK. It’s all going to be OK.

The lists are done. Now it’s time to live – just like we did back home. Real life starts today.

 

 

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.

Gift with Purchase

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Happy One Week Anniversary to us! Alot of ground has been covered so far. Setting up house is exhausting business and it makes quite the dent in the wallet. We spend our free time shopping.

Gift with Purchase

I’ve always been a savvy shopper, but even I am weary of it.  After a week straight of foraging in the wilds of Valencian shops, I want a day off. But we don’t have some of the essentials we need. I realized this yesterday when the guy who hooked up our internet asked for a glass of water and I had to give him a litre bottle because we have no glasses from which to drink. Jeff and I had just been claiming whole bottles for ourselves and drinking directly from them. Time to get a bit more civilized.

The printer we had delivered yesterday had a shattered glass copying surface so Jeff carried it back to the store (1.5 km) and we returned it yesterday. It was a sweaty business.

‘I need tennis shoes. These dress shoes aren’t cutting it.’ he complained on the march to the Worten.

He had sacrificed space in our luggage for me and now he was paying for it. So when we were at the mall returning the copier and ordering another one, we stopped into some of the athletic stores and browsed. He picked out some he liked and we asked the shop assistant for his size.

Jeff is tall, even by US standards. And in Spain, he’s freakishly tall. People stare. And when he asked for a size 48 shoe their eyes widened.

‘No no no. In Spain we are short. No 48. Maybe 46.5 but not even 47’

We heard it over and over. Jeff became demoralized.

‘Maybe we can find a clown store so I can buy shoes.’

‘Or you can order them online. Or we can go to Norway for a weekend – where your people are from – and buy you some clothes there.’ You might think I’m kidding but I am not.

Today we woke up and headed out early to pick up a few more things. Garbage can for the kitchen, printer paper for when our copier shows up later today, and a host of other things.

There are places all over the city that are filled to the gills with stuff imported from China – like the Dollar Store in the US. And in general it’s stuff we need. And they’re all run by Chinese immigrants to Spain, who speak Spanish better than I ever will. In my simple mind, I refer to the one near our house as the ‘Chinese store.’ I don’t actually know what’s it’s called but Jeff knows what I mean when I refer it. We headed there.

We filled our cart until we knew we were at the limit of what we could carry home and proceeded to the check out. The guy there is getting to know us and he actually smiled this time. He rang us up and because we were spending 67 euros, he came around the counter and handed Jeff a can of olives, and then me a litre of lactose free milk. I’m not quite sure what he was trying to tell me with that.

We didn’t really want these things and tried to give them back to him, but he kept saying something louder and louder like we were simple minded (OK maybe he’s right), and waving ‘no, no, no’. Apparently, we are good customers now and we get ‘gifts with purchase.’ Not unlike the GWP you get at the cosmetic counter at Nordstrom from Lancome or MAC. Except no extra lip stick or face cream to try out. Here we get olives stuffed with anchovies and lactose free milk.

Finally, we graciously accepted it and took our toilet brushes, light bulbs and the like home. And now I will have light to read by and a place to put our garbage. I’ll be ready if the copy delivery man needs a glass of water after he asks for my passport, again. Perhaps I’ll tip him with a lovey can of olives or some lactose-free milk. Since we’re locals now!

 

 

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.

Last Dance with Mary Jane

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The shippers got the moving truck back to our house around 3:30 yesterday afternoon. I almost cried when they left. Our house is empty, except for the life raft (air mattress) in the bedroom and it  echos. Jeff can no longer mutter under his breath on the other side of the house without me hearing exactly what he’s saying. How do I know this? Experience.

All 14 computers are being recycled today and Mary Jane is en route to her new owner. Our goodbye in the garage was brief, but I did acknowledge how much she’s helped us get ready for today. Jeff drove off with the Bill of Sale and the title clutched in his hand. I’ll collect him from his office at the end of the day.

Today, there are only a couple of things I need to get done. A sweep with a garbage bag to open every cupboard, drawer, closet, cubby, and ensure that they’re clear. A guy is coming at 11:30 to take the last of Jeff’s tools, so I’ll let him into the garage to take them away.

Jeff was happy this morning. A man who has spent his entire life gathering stuff, feels lighter letting go.

‘I think everyone should go through this process. It feels good.’ He said at 5 am laying in the dark.  ‘Even if the boat sinks with all the rest of our stuff, I would be OK.’

If there had been any light in the room, he would have seen my jaw drop. Jeff has had a much harder time with this process, than I have. Shucking all he’s worked so hard for. But it seems he’s turned a corner. I relate, because I feel the same way.

Yesterday, I paid our rent for March in Valencia. It made us both feel better that we’re good to go when we land. It’s been a long process, but the time has been necessary. Evolutions take time. Growth can be painful, but it’s always good. We’re ready to go.

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.

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.

Detente

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We have one week to go. Next Monday we fly to LA to pick up our visas and then we’re on a plane to Spain. It’s down to the wire. And while I’ve been handling most of the list over the last 6 months, the last few things are going to be a group effort and requires negotiations.

Jeff is a person who likes to cross the finish line in more of a ‘Just in Time’ fashion. In direct opposition to my ‘The Early Bird Catches the Worm’ philosophy. Today is a holiday in the US, so he’s home and we’re mopping up. He’s packing up his computers, VR stuff and other things, I have no idea what they are. He has purchased special water proof bins for these things. They will be zip tied and wrapped in plastic.

I’m not allowed to go in the room where he’s packing these things. He wants to focus and encounter no interruptions. I”m sure he’s doing what he needs to do with the piles that he’s created around the house. Some how he’ll figure out how to get it all into boxes or the garbage bin.

Music is important to this task. Usually, we listen to our own music via headphones. But today, it’s on full speaker and apparently we don’t have to same taste in music. It’s a realization that seems to have escaped me for the last 18 years.

Jeff was a DJ at a roller skating rink when he was in high school. He’s a connoisseur of 80’s music, all the way through to last week, and he has a vast collection of it. My musical tastes are more eclectic. I had older brothers and sisters so I have things on iTunes from the 70’s and even as far back as the 1930’s.

Jeff got to hear these songs –  many that he’s never heard before.

‘How can you not know who Andre Botcelli is?’ I ask him.

‘Sorry, but I’ve avoided opera so far.’

‘Well, you know that Paolo Conte’s Via Con Mi  is my go to on any airplane take off. It’s cheerful and optimistic.’ I’m not a good take-off-er.

Heavy sigh – ‘Yes, I know. But your playlists are curious.’

‘How so?’ I asked, ready for battle. Anyone who doesn’t like Edith Piaf and ‘Schmeilson in the Night’ is suspect, as far as I’m concerned.

‘Well, usually you build it so that it starts out with some slow stuff and builds up to something head banging, with a heavy base. Then you take the listener down and drop them off gently at the end. This assault is more scattered and random.’

I close my eyes and breathe.

‘Have you never heard of ‘Shuffle’? It means that tracks are played randomly. I don’t choose it.’

‘Yeah – well, whatever algorithm is ‘choosing’ it, is just sad.’

‘Well it might make you sad, but I’ll always be ready for Jennifer Hudson’s ‘I Am Changing‘. Dream Girls is a timeless anthem to women overcoming and rising up.’

‘Maybe, but it’s startling. It’s like your songs stab the listener when they play, before you figure out what you’re listening to.’

I thought he should be careful bringing up stabbing, but the knives are gone. We’re going to be spending ALOT more time together when we get to Spain. I think I can turn him on to Edith, Andre, Yo-Yo, The Spin Dotors and Depeche Mode. And perhaps, just perhaps, I can reorder my music so it’s less of an assault on the senses. And I’m sure I’ll come to appreciate Cake and Jane’s Addiction, eventually.