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It hasn't even been a year yet since my husband Rob and I moved to Barcelona but it's what life must be like in dog years. Every month we learn something new. It's like a month here is a year in my old life. At this rate I'll be 60 and ready to retire by the end of the year! Our work moved both of us over here and we haven't regretted a single moment of it. It's been such an incredible journey that I wanted to share it, share it with anyone who will take a few moments to read my articles. I am posting a series of them on my website just to give you a flavor of what it has been like to move from the US to Europe. I hate to start my series of articles out with a proud pat on the back, but that's just what I have to do. Yep, we did it; we made the big trans-Atlantic move. So many people dream of moving abroad and Barcelona works its way into some of their dreams. Images of living in a flat in the center of town and buying bread at the local corner bakery and biking home with it in a basket (along with a bouquet of fresh cut flowers) come to mind when fantasizing about living in Europe. But then when reality sets in and we're faced with selling the house, giving away the dog and transferring the kids to a Spanish school, the dream of moving abroad seems more like a romance, but one that will never go anywhere. The nail in the coffin is the pay…. What?!, take a 30% pay cut?! So most are left with the wishful "Yes, we've always wanted to move abroad, but…" (Fill in the blank with whatever you'd like.) BUT, there are other fools that pretend a pay cut isn't all that bad and sell, store, give away or ship all their items to Spain after visiting it only once or twice. Have you ever been one of those? We were! We chose this crazy option, but we were working off even less information because our visits had consisted seeing the insides of discos or sitting in a sterile work office wishing we hadn't been to the dance clubs last night so that we could concentrate. That Red Bull® and Vodka from just a few hours earlier wasn't tasting so good at that moment. So, our minds were clouded with the dull pulsing pain under fluorescent lights. The hours of sleep over the past 3 days could be counted on one hand and we made the best decision of our life. Let's do it! Let's move to Spain! Red Bulls® every night! And that's basically how it happened, but we don't drink Red Bulls® every night. In fact, we never drink them because we are still late night weenies. I would be lying if I didn't tell you it was hard moving. There were so many little things to remember to do and so many people to visit. Everyday was a continual goodbye. Rob had already moved and was living without any furniture in our new apartment in Barcelona. I had just finished packing everything up and it was on a boat going through the Panama Canal somewhere. Our dog was adopted away, our cars were sold and I was just finishing up work before leaving. I was living back home with my parents counting the days before I could leave. My brother who is 12 years younger was home from school for the summer and we had to share a car. Also, my parents had some German guests visiting. There was tension in the air at home because there were far too many people for such a small house and there were my dad's two huge parrots that shrieked and made a mess. I had completely gone backwards in time. I was living with my parents, sleeping on a cot in the study, and sharing a car with my brother. Then just days before leaving I ran through a stop light that was yellowish… tangerine-ish… burnt orange-ish…, OK it was pretty dog gone close to red and it also happened to be one of those photo enforced intersections, the type where they just send you the ticket in the mail. Darn!., it was my dad's car and I was leaving in a few days. So, I had to tell him. I wrote a letter for him to send in with the fine, I gave him a blank check and I gave him a photocopy of my driver's license. In the event that the ticket came in the mail it was covered and it would just go on my driving record. (Hey, I was moving to Spain, who cares about the DMV?!) It was the worst feeling having to tell him you did something "bad" in his car. And to make matters worse every day when I was leaving for work he would say, "Now Greta, be careful in my car. No wild stuff." Doesn't that sound strangely familiar… like being 16 and borrowing your parent's car to go out for the night?!… only I was an adult who just sent off my husband, who had had a house, who had had a car of her own and had a real job. Arrrggghhhh. Despite the pain and frustration we made it and now we live in an apartment with our own furniture. Yes, I still sometimes wake up at night in a cold sweat remembering my life sleeping on a cot next to a shrieking parrot, but I think I can get therapy for that. I have so much more to say but limited space to say it, like my first day of work and how incredibly intimidating that was or all the stupid mistakes I've made in Spanish. So, just bear with me and put up with my mindless babble in each article. |
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