6 degrees of anticipation

So far, Spain feels like a remarkable dichotomy. On one hand, things feel very old school with the need to pick up the phone and talk to people to get them to respond. On the other, the technological innovations that are cited as evidence that the U.S. is falling behind are well in evidence. Electronic payments, for example, have gained a great level of comfort here, although dangle the prospect of paying cash and people are awfully responsive, too.

A love of paper seems as ingrained in the culture as great ham. I’ll never cease to be amazed how people suddenly take a statement as gospel as long as it’s stated on a random piece of paper. We have gathered, with no exaggeration, at least 30 documents attesting to just about every part of our existence with the exception of how many times I pooped last week. It’s an impressive array that took a lot of hours (even months) to gather, and a fair number of dollars. They span from the obvious (passport) to the authoritative (registering with local authorities) to the obtuse (a US consulate letter stating I didn’t live in Spain). Think about that for a moment, I have a letter from one government saying I didn’t live in the territory of another government. Bizarre.

But the fun of gathering all these documents is only round one when dealing with the many bureaucratic hurdles of getting things done here. It’s document Russian roulette every time you sit down on one side of the desk and await the next query from the person on the other side. Without question, I know 50% of the documents are unnecessary. The problem is, I have no idea which 50%. It has already felt like I must be on candid camera as the next request comes, because it inevitably is for the one document I don’t have at that particular moment. There must a wizard behind the curtain because somebody has to be pulling the strings!

Some of the stories on the expat boards are hilarious and heart-rending at the same time. The British expat who was on the way to the residency office for the 17th time to try and get his paperwork completed. Or the Spanish-driver-to-be who opted to take the English language version of the driving test, only to later discover that the translation was so bad failure was almost inevitable. What’s that old saying – it’s funny until it happens to you.

It’s made in jest, but this video is a nice little glimpse into dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s in Spain. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XXWZ3uAEKsw

So this is our lives at the moment. Carting around a mound of papers, desperately trying to play the right card at the right time so we can check off another box. Who wins in the end? I know it’s not the trees.

RANDOM THOUGHTS: Although we had heard some negative things about the friendliness (or lack of it) in Barcelona compared to other parts of Spain, we’re not seeing it. People have actually been quite helpful as we stumble along with very limited Spanish. I know I’ve butchered at least a few Spanish words already (and probably asked for sautéed insole for dinner), but nary a grimace has been served… Try this out back home with a GPS. If you input your destination address as a Walmart, the display will show the end point with the familiar red and white circles. The red and white circles, of course, are the brand logo for Target. Okay, the GPS uses the same symbol for every destination, but I still think it’s rather hilarious. This might be the only territory the boys from Bentonville haven’t gained control over… Walking by a bakery with the smell of freshly-baked bread wafting out to the street just about makes the whole day worthwhile regardless of what else happens.

There are times when we all feel like our lives are stuck in a box, whether it be career issues or personal issues or just a momentary phase in life. I’ve certainly felt it at various points in my career. This adventure to Barcelona has taken that sensation to a literal level that really didn’t occur to me at the outset. My life, my family’s life, at least in the material sense, is literally within a big metal box somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean. It’s an interesting feeling to stuff your possessions into a big crate and wish them Bon Voyage! Call it separation anxiety to the nth degree.

We had spent months going through our years of accumulated keepsakes, knick-knacks, odd ends and sundry items, all to figure out what was worth taking and what we would live without. Hanging over this culling process was the spectre of a 20-foot box and what how much it could actually contain. Ponder that $64,000 question with your own stuff. It’s a conundrum to put it lightly. I know some good choices were made (we have how many blenders?), while some others hopefully won’t come back to haunt us later. As much as I love my favorite peanut butter that’s only available in Canada, I’ll admit it’s definitely a gamble that a jar will survive a 5,000-mile journey inside a big, steel box in the middle of summer. We may flip open the giant doors and find something that looks like a beige-colored, sticky Michelin Man coming out to greet us with a vile odor. One can only hope not.

The stuffing it all in part didn’t lack drama. The container no-showed on the expected day and left us scrambling to change a dozen plans. When it finally did arrive – brought by a driver who started the day in Tennessee at 2 a.m. – our moving crew would still be somewhere in traffic on the Beltway for nearly another two hours. At final count, not only did our stuff get packed into the box, but along went 41 moving pads, five paper wraps, two rolls of cling, a whole bunch of scavenged boxes (thank you Safeway), umpteen towels wrapped around things and more rolls of tape than I could possibly count that were (bought at all hours of the day and night).

As it drove away from our home, I was left thinking, if only there was an opportunity to watch the crate and see exactly what experience this trip is delivering for our belongings. Stuff may not have hearts or souls, but that doesn’t mean the adventure is any less epic. All these items are on a thrill ride better than any amusement park. Imagine what exactly is happening inside that box during a crane ride from the truck to the dock, and then skyward once again up to the ship. Will the container be loaded on top and baked by the summer sun for the next dozen or so days, or will it be on the bottom and well-shaded? What kind of weather will it go through and how much will it be thrown around? We asked the question, “How often do containers fall off the boat and into the ocean?” It’s not as rare as you might think. Our stuff could end up sleeping with the fishes. Picture Charlie Tuna reclining on my sofa watching a 55-inch Samsung!

The next adventure begins when our stuff finally rejoins us in a few weeks. Then comes the treasure hunt to determine which box contains the item I really need at that particular moment, and the magical mystery tour of items that may never appear again. Moving into our last place, I finally found the barbecue cover that had been missing for close to a decade. How is that possible, you ask? Pack up your stuff and let karma explain it to you.

RANDOM THOUGHTS: Prices in Barcelona never fail to surprise, with some things remarkably cheap and others shockingly expensive. At the grocery store, five nice-sized tomatoes were only 49 cents (about 65 cents US), but half a small papaya was nearly eight bucks. Also noteworthy, a can of beer (imported, no less) was just 34 cents but a can of coke was 56 cents. Guess which one I bought… I’m starting to see the purpose of a man-purse, How frightening is that… Housing is still our top goal and still a work in progress. The fact that no one – owners, real estate agents, etc. – will even take a phone call let alone work on the weekend slows things down immeasurably. It’s not an easy place to get things done.

One week in Barcelona. Still homeless.  Sated with ice cream

Arriving in Barcelona has meant becoming homeless for the first time in a long time. It’s an odd feeling not having “that place” to arrive back at every evening. All this is made even stranger by our temporary dwelling having such charming features as a grand total of four forks and one pristine bidet. And no, I haven’t gotten up the courage yet to give that porcelain appliance a try. It seems likely that when that day comes, it will not be one of my better days.

We’ve gotten many laughs over the last few months at the tangled results of our efforts to translate mysterious Spanish phrases using whatever online tool is the flavor of the day. Google Translate is the most popular choice, but when this useful tool decides to take a left turn, it’s quite the wild ride. For some reason, descriptions of documentation needed for various tasks tend to feature a phrase that translates to weapon. I’ve heard many horror stories about dealing with the Spanish bureaucracy, but could hand-to-hand combat be part of the test?

These translation revelations are never more entertaining than when scanning apartment listings. I’ve learned so much in such a short period of time. For example, a couple of listings this week revealed that Air Conditioning is Cold. Who knew! And I was very tempted to schedule a viewing of the apartment described as “Shining for your height.” If only there was time to fit it all in.

I’ve also seen a kitchen described as “Perfecto.” I guess the poetic license among real estate agents to push the truth a tad is also available across the Atlantic, since said kitchen was lacking all appliances except an aging cooktop. As well, I’m hoping that it was simply a misstep in translation that suggested one flat had four bedrooms outside. Camping anyone?

Spanish apartments have many features that are a little foreign to me. Most definitely, I’ll need to do some additional research to get comfortable with the more unique attributes that have popped up in the last few days, including aluminum parquet, wooden windows, parking for an enclosed car and three winds (does the weatherman know?).

And maybe my favorite description of all will definitely take some adjustment “In the evening we found a suite and two twin bedrooms sharing a bathroom.” Is that legal in Spain? Google Translate is a lifesaver and, potentially, a threat to the moral fiber of the country.

If nothing else, all this levity does help one keep sanity through the pain of searching for a place to live. That and a certain five-year-old who never runs out of ways to delight, nor holas to dole out to surprised strangers. Here’s to the simple joy of childhood found with the first tree climbed in Barcelona.

RANDOM THOUGHTS: I was bested today at understanding and speaking Spanish by a 5-year-old. I know it won’t be the last time. Life is humbling… I popped the SIM card out of my phone (okay, the guy in the store popped out the SIM card), replaced it with a card from a Spanish carrier and voila! I’m now dialing like a local. Technology is wonderful (when it isn’t driving us crazy)… I’ve gotten some of the key Spanish words for surviving cemented into my brain, such as bathroom and coffee, but for some reason the words for hardware store and socks are also sticking with me. It’s going to make for an awfully interesting, albeit limited, session of small talk. (Do you shop for coffee and socks at the hardware store after your bathroom break?).

The wait to begin our journey to Barcelona seemed like it took years – because, well, it did take years. As I broke the news to friends and colleagues over the last few weeks, the word “sudden” was thrown into the conversation often, but the reality is this may go down in the annals as one of the longest “sudden” decisions in the history of man.

For me, the desire to live for a time in a foreign city dates back about a dozen years ago and a near-miss move to London. The thought cropped up again in early 2011 when another opportunity arose that didn’t pan out. That one really set the wheels in motion, starting my wife and I on the odyssey of figuring out if we wanted to do this, where we might want to do this and the logistics of making it happen. As you can see, “sudden” is a relative term.

And, oh, what an odyssey it has been already, especially with a five-year-old in tow. I learn a little and laugh a little more every day seeing the word through his wide eyes. From the giggling pleasure that comes from the unexplained urge to run full-bore down every moving sidewalk he can find (all while towing a suitcase as big as him behind him) to the simple contentment that comes from a favorite food at the end of the day, he is a model of how to live life in all its simple glory.

We’ve been trying to keep it simple over the last few weeks as the myriad challenges of moving came into play. That was a good plan, but not sure the final execution quite hit the mark. As we loaded up our luggage off the carousel after arriving in Barcelona, I could swear I heard someone comment that no one had landed with that many bags since the Mayflower. So much for simple.

After corralling the largest cab we could find and wrestling the multitude of bags to the 1st floor (which is actually the second floor for everyone on the left side of the Atlantic), we had arrived in our temp apartment to start our time in Barcelona. The desire to live abroad had become a reality – complete with utter bewilderment at how to turn on the stove. It truly is a journey.

RANDOM THOUGHTS: I’m no expert on Spanish cuisine, but I’m pretty sure that the spaghetti and pizza that made up our first two major meals in Barcelona didn’t really qualify. As a newcomer in a town with limited opening hours for everything from offices to restaurants, you can’t be too picky at meal time. There’s an irony in there somewhere… As a car guy, I’ll also call it ironic that the final vehicle I drove before our departure from DC was a rental car sorely lacking in, well, pretty much everything. It did have four wheels and sufficient seats, but I’m pretty sure if I popped the hood I’d find a couple of hamsters on a treadmill instead of an engine. This may be a sign of our vehicle future to come.