Madre Mia!

I think I'm hungover. My head hurts and I am nauseous. No it isn't that I was up late drinking wine... although I was up late drinking wine, it is the massive amount of paperwork moving to Spain entails! My hangover is a combination of the letdown from excitement and fear that fueled this move. Adrenalin got me through the initial pile of paperwork, but now I have zero left for the mounds and mounds of more paperwork still to be done.

I have no idea what I thought moving to another country would be like, obviously my imagination was full of charming cafes and cheap wine, what it was decidedly not was learning how to find proof of something that doesn't exist, then having it apostilled, then translated and signed by the authorities in Spain. Yet, here we are. As an example, I somehow managed to get "proof of non-marriage" for my daughter drafted as an original, then apostilled, then submitted to translators and finally signed. Now take that example of ridiculous string of happenings and multiply it by a million and that gets you through simply submitting for a visa.  

Once we arrived in Spain, got our visas (with only a couple revisions after 4 months of hard work), and decided on a place to live, we needed to be registered with the city. Sounds simple, but for starters, I was told to go to the "Padron" which as it turns out is properly called the Ajuntament de Sitges. These kind of little things that everyone thinks you should know and don't are exhausting. Trying to find the Padron office is the same as looking for something that doesn't exist...because technically it does not. Once I found the place, it was impossible to get an appointment so I tried the online suggestion of going and waiting for an opening in the office approach. Supposedly many people are successful with that tactic... what I found out was it is all up to luck. I had bad luck. I was cursed with a woman that seemed to be the gatekeeper to the agents that would help approve me. She was annoyed with me from moment number one. Maybe it was my shite spanish, maybe it was my sharp pointy face (I was once described that way), but whatever it was, she was not going to let me have an easy time with this process. She cited that my rental contract was not proper. I messaged my landlord asking for advice. He assured me it was and that he does many of them and the Padron always approves them. He sent me a photo of his driver's license in an effort to legitimize the contract. La Rena (the queen) was not happy with me one bit when I returned to her desk with this updated information the landlord gave me. All of which I had to try to explain in spanish, bad spanish. You know the feeling when someone radiates annoyance? Well that was now happening as she explained again the issues she had with the contract and that I needed to fix them before anything else could happen. She spoke fast and struck her fingernail hard onto the desk to indicate each of the 5 edits I must make, then pointed to the door. OK, that sucked. And I couldn't help but feel like I also sucked.

Messaging my lawyer, begging for someone to come hold my hand, I was told that while the very letter of the law would ask for these minute details on a rental contract, it was really really rare for anyone to demand it these days. We agreed that she must not like me and that I had no other choice but to try to have these edits made. Let me say again that I am really grateful for our landlord. Remember how I mentioned how great he was in the last post? Well, he didn't want to rewrite the contract in such a silly way, but he did and he supplied several signed copies "just in case". He also agreed that she must not like me and that I did indeed have bad luck. 

With a police fingerprinting appointment looming only a day away that I had to have my registration paperwork authorized for, I returned to the guillotine hoping for mercy. I was literally shaking. Now, I am a very confident, self assured woman, but speaking in spanish whilst doing scary government tasks with La Rena at the helm made me feel like a child having wet their pants at school. I handed her the contract and watched as she skimmed over each word with her hate filled nails. When she looked up she said "vale"(ok) and handed the paper back to me. She motioned to me to evacuate the space near her desk while informing me that without an appointment I may have to sit and wait for many hours for an agent to be available to help me, but I could wait in the open seats as far from her as possible. I had actual beads of sweat rolling down my face as I quickly grabbed a seat, exhaled and tried not to throw up. My daughter tried to give me a pep talk, she held my hand and kept me from having a panic attack. The agent I was able to see within the hour was kind and accepted my forms. Yay! Before I knew it I had our signed authorizations and we were happily skipping down the street to a celebration glass of cava.

Next was going to the police station in the next town over, Villanova i la Geltru. Once again my landlord saved the day and drove us there. Villanova is a city that I know nothing about and taking the train to get to this oh so serious appointment where my daughter and I would become official residents of Spain, might have broke me after the last few stressful days. 

The National Police Station is as intimidating as you think it might be. Armed officers are at the entrance, then in the lobby, then at each hallway; they are in charge of the flow of bodies and all happenings. Afraid I'd find another La Rena inside, I tentatively approached the officer that motioned me into the center of the large room. In stunted spanish I explained why I was there and provided proof of our appointments. He smiled kindly and assisted me with the check in machine, then escorted us around the corner to a new waiting area. Thank God he was so nice. I am pretty sure I would have cried if he was not. The process went pretty easily from there with only a handful of miscommunications due to my lack of spanish skill, and my daughter evidently not having fingerprints (it was really challenging to get the fingerprinting scanner to pick up on her fingerprints!), but when we were set free with our official residency papers in under an hour, it felt like the entire office, police officers and all, were saying "falicidades!". My landlord's car pulled up to pick us up and as soon as the door opened he asked "success?!?" I jumped into his arms saying "Si!Si!Si!". I guess I was a little emotional over the entire thing. 

My daughter and I celebrated that evening with a really special bottle of cava and a sunset view of the beach. Our cards would be ready for pickup in 30 days. We had done it, and the feeling of accomplishment was incredible. 

Now all we needed was to do all of this all over again when Jesse arrived. Oof. Turns out doing this process the second time is crazy easy. I prepared all the paperwork for Jesse, took him to the office and prepared to go to war with La Rena. We walked the beautiful winding streets there and stepped in, my breathing heavy with anticipation and I met eyes with a woman I had never seen before. WHERE IS LA RENA?!? Yep, not only did Jess not have to do any of the scary firsts on his own, or put together strange paperwork, he also never had to meet La Rena! A very friendly woman greeted us, scanned our overly elaborate paperwork and eschewed us on without a beat. We were in and out in less time than it took to walk to the office and back. Jess looked at me with an enormous grin and I said, with love, "I hate you so much right now."

30 days passed quickly and this time I did need to brave taking the train to the police station. It turns out it is a very easy 6 min ride and then a quick taxi. Easy peasy! Somehow all of these step are so full of stress, but we keep braving them. We happily tucked our new cards in our wallets and addressed each other as spaniards. We were giddy with excitement. It was as if we had summited Mount Everest unaware of the dark storm looming on our descent.

The next morning I woke to emails detailing the web of steps I needed to take to file with social security. On the list were 2 things I had been putting off, finally figuring out our very complex cell phone needs so that we have both a USA and a Spain number and getting a Spain bank which seems to be a completely ridiculous amount of hoops to jump through. It was the first depression I have had in Spain. Is this more than I can handle? I don't have the stamina! I actually thought maybe I need La Rena to come tell me what I am doing wrong. 

I felt on the edge of losing it. The feeling of being like a plastic bag, drifting through the wind... feeling paper thin...already buried deep, 6 feet under screams...  but I stepped out onto our little balcony, looked at the ocean and golden light and took in a huge, grateful to be in Spain breath and thought 'you got this'

Come on people, sing it with me 

'Cause baby you're a firework! Come on show 'em what your worth!'

Ya Spain, let's do this! 

Growing Pains - The Arrival

OK OK OK! Everyone wants to hear about Jesse arriving in Spain so let's go!

He landed on Oct 23 and was delivered to our apartment door by our landlord who has become indispensable. He helped my daughter, Denali, and I move into the new apartment, gets things fixed, drove us to the next town over for registering with the police and has been a personal airport shuttle. The airport shuttle service was of particular help with Jess, who would have happily taken the bus or train, but was saddled with 4 giant suitcases (mostly for us ladies) and his backpack, not exactly easy for public transportation. When he arrived, he stepped out of the van with arms wide open and his signature giant smile.

We couldn't wait to hear all of Jesse's stories and share all of ours. A welcome glass of Cava followed by a sieta and he was feeling right at home. "Driving in you got to see some of the town, what did you think of it?!?" I eagerly asked as the golden sun was starting to set. The sea view from our balcony twinkled in the light and the warm air caused condensation to bead on our cold wine glasses. 'It's kinda ghetto. I was surprised.' Denali and I stared at him gobsmacked. She and I had been so delighted when we arrived here. We have also had some serious trials and tribulations to get through here and that has made it feel even more special. Then again we had already spent 2 months in Spain when we arrived in Sitges so perhaps we had a different view. Nevertheless, we sat there and stared wide eyed at him.

Ghetto?!? I didn't know if I should be sad, mad, betrayed or defensive, but I was 100% shocked. This was definitely NOT the introduction to Sitges we had imagined for him. I mean we know Jess doesn't do jubalent or extatic, but this was harsh. I started to second guess everything. 

A little jetlagged the next morning, he allowed me to drag him out on the walking tour of the main circle through town. As I pointed out various landmarks, I noticed that the tarnish on the buildings was a little bit blacker and the sun baked colorful umbrellas a little bit duller to me. Had I been wearing rose colored glasses this entire time??? I tried to think of things that he would appreciate... the town dates back to the 4th century B.C., the Malvasia grape is native to Sitges, the temperature is perfect year round, and there are bike trails into the hills just behind us. I took him to the most stunning views in town, we sat on the beach and drank Rose, and we even took him to one of the most famous gay bar in Spain, The Boys Bar, for a standup comedy show (who doesn't love a gay bar?), but this nut was hard to crack. He said it was beautiful. He said it was great. He looked like he'd dropped his ice cream cone.

After a few more days of stressful work conversations, concern over our home being newly listed on Airbnb, and a general state of depression in the air as I slumped, I suddenly remembered that Spain me isn't like this. Spain me is so happy! I love this town, I think it is gorgeous! I love the beautiful promenade with its incredible restaurants and cafes. I love the charming twists and turns of the old town packed with shops, great shops too not the usual touristy crap. I love that the town is passionate about its foodie scene and more importantly its wine heritage. I am routinely struck by the stunning views and the incredible kindness of the locals. It was time for a talk, was Jess going to fall in love with Sitges or were we needing to shop for a new home?

I was in a good space now that I remembered that Spain me is awesome and not the worrywart-stressed-out-scared-of-what-is-happening-in-the-USA me, so I was able to come to this discussion with gentleness. To my surprise it was actually Jesse that asked that we gather in the living room to talk. He had a vulnerability on his face and he said "I'm sorry you guys. I arrived and disrupted everything you had going on here and I want to know how to assimilate into your scene." Our daughter, always so articulate and direct, told him how much it hurt our feelings that he didn't like Sitges. He quickly informed us that he actually LOVES it here! His eyes shimmering with passion, I could tell this was not just him placating us. I reminded him of how he had called it ghetto and that he had not conveyed to us that he loved it or appreciated it at all. True to form he used humor to illustrate his point 'what exactly were you hoping my enjoyment would look like? I don't skip or say yippie'. Just the idea of seeing Jesse doing these things immediately put the expectations we had had in check. Ya, what had we wanted from him? Probably skipping and singing yippie! He also shared where he was coming from, mentally, emotionally, and physically. It really helped to hear just how stressful getting ready to leave New Mexico had been for him and the disappointment he felt that some of the people he considers most important to him didn't make the effort to say goodbye. He was physically exhausted from working crush for the winery and from travel. He shared how he had imagined this place to be Spain's version of Saint Tropez which in his mind translated to a Beverly Hills wealthy thing that would cause us to go broke instantaneously. Plain and simple, Sitges was not as polished as he expected. It was more like worn leather and gold bangles than furs and rhinestones. OK he didn't say it exactly like that, I used a little poetic license. His initial description of Sitges also reflects that he has vomit mouth where he says whatever jumps into his head first. I am familiar with this aspect of his personality and it has resulted in several arguments. All I'm saying is don't ask if your butt looks big in those pants, not only will you hate the pants, but you may never want anyone to see your butt ever again. It meant a lot to us that he recognized his poor word choice in this circumstance and retracted 'ghetto'. Landing in charming little Sitges with its down to earth vibe and comfortable laid back atmosphere took him by surprise, but he can't get over its beauty and swagger. OK I added 'swagger' because that is how it seems to me, like the town equivalent of Matthew Mcconaughey saying 'alright, alright, alright'. Jess stated that we would not be looking for somewhere else to call home, this was the place and he couldn't be happier. The 3 of us smiled and laughed and hugged just like in a corny made for TV movie. 

It has been a week since Jess arrived in his new home town. The amazing, intoxicating reality of living in Spain is recognizing how different you feel here. Not an external feeling that your body perceives like the weather or even social differences. It is the slow pace and focus on daily happy living that is palpable and forces you to be a more authentic version of yourself. I am loving being able to watch Jesse experience this transition and relax into a new version of himself, one with less frustration and conflict. 

Most days we do wake up excited to embrace the day. Most days we gaze at the incredible history marked buildings leaning over cobblestone streets and arching over the sea and marvel that we live here. On occasion there are days that hurt with the loss of our lives back in NM, or we ache with the difficulties of living abroad, but it passes and we return to being so deeply grateful to be here. I do think we are smiling more here. The stress lines on our faces are softer already, and I think I even heard Jesse say "yippie!" under his breath yesterday.