2014 - Moving In

There’s a smokin’ hot 20-something year old Spanish lad working down below on the pool that I’m standing above, three stories up on a tiled terrace. Although it’s not his name, I affectionately, secretly, call him ‘Juan Carlo the Pool Boy’. I’m trying not to stare. Instead I just shake my head in disbelief. Suddenly I feel as if I’ve walked into a cheesy episode of Desperate Housewives. Should be cutting to commercial any second. The panoramic view beyond is expansive and overlooks the Mediterranean Sea. Soon the sun will be setting, just over the mountains. The fourth one we’ve seen to date. Of all the sunsets I’ve watched in all the places I’ve been around the world, the ones I’m privileged to see now, every night, just outside my new front door, are by far the MOST impressive!

Happy new home owner!

It took quite a long time and quite a lot of patience, but finally, FINALLY, Huw signed on the purchase of his house and now I’m privy to the oh-so-unique experience of settling into a home in a foreign country. In my lifetime to date, I’ve bought (or rather, been involved in buying) three houses. With that, comes the hand-cramping process of signing large stacks of legal documents to seal the deal in The U.S.A. But what I saw as the “closing” process with this Spanish villa was something completely different. Six parties took place in the event – the seller, the seller’s real estate agent, the bank representative, the city Notary, Huw (the buyer), and Huw’s lawyer (who’s Spanish and was essentially there to act on behalf and translate). Oh, and I can’t let it go without comment that the bank representative (female) was wearing a VERY low-cut top and carried something akin to a ‘Hello Kitty’ handbag for her paperwork and bank notes. When she bent over to reach for some papers, all present in the room got quite an eyeful, and I couldn’t help but giggle when I watched her stuff a giant wad of cash into her silly bag. LOL! Well, anyway, there we all were in a small room around a large table to witness the Notary’s reading of the contract. After no more than about 10 minutes review and discussion, one, SINGLE piece of paper was passed around the table for the chief parties to sign. I took a quick glance at the papers and was surprised to see such an informal contrast to what I’m used to in the States. They were nothing more than about a dozen, double-spaced, hand-typed pages that looked like a research paper I might have written in college. But that’s all it took. And with that, Señior Garcia (the seller) gave Huw three crowded rings of house keys and the deed was done. Muchas Gracias and Adios. Wow!

The 'hood' on Tossal Gros

They say the three most important things about a house is: location, location, location. Damn!! Is that ever the case here! I’ve probably gushed enough about the view, so I won’t say more about that. But now, strolling the “neighborhood” is just as surreal. I say neighborhood in quotations because it’s more like a scene from a foreign film, dotted with jaw-dropping multi-million dollar homes, high atop this mountain overlooking the ocean. Some have massive security gates and, are you kidding me??!!...the swimming pools are seriously worthy of sunbathing celebrities. Totally unbelievable!

Now then…hold it right there…(insert sound of a screeching record player). Before all this ooh la la fancy-pants, “villa on a Spanish hillside” nonsense gets carried away, let me clarify that Huw’s house is honestly just a nice, modest abode. Yes the view is to-die-for. And yes, George Clooney might, just might, spend his summers up the road around the corner, but as for this particular dwelling itself, well, the reality is, we’re rollin’ up our sleeves and gettin’ down to fixin’ her up.

This is where the fun really begins and where time spent tra la la-ing around the Spanish countryside changes. Our first couple of days were spent cleaning out the house. We learned that the owner didn’t stay here full time and apparently didn’t care to remove all his furniture and crap, so we’ve had quite an adventure going through drawers, dumping out piles, and sorting through various bizarre findings. Among the dried up spiders, hoards of plastic bags, and old bottles of different types of cleaners that I can’t translate, Señior Garcia  also left us: a large, rusty bike; the MOST hideous, worm-infected light fixture you ever saw; loads of clothes hangers (actually, some of those are quite useful); condoms in the bedside drawers and certain – ahem – kinds of magazines…ewww and double ewww; a couple of gawd-awful, bright, yellow neon shirts; several, very Spanish looking tapestry-like slip covers; and loads of trash. Oh…and there are twist ties and eye bolts securing the beds to the walls (hhhhmmm…). Surely everyone has, at some point, gone through other people’s castoffs. What a hoot doing it with a cultural twist! And in all fairness, we scored a few treasures too: a bitchin’ wood coffee table; some rustic, occasional chairs (that I’ve already set by the front door along with a lovely, fresh hot pink geranium); two large, ceramic pots; and several, typical terra cotta tapas bowls that we’ve been using nearly every night. SWEET!!

DIY center - Spanish style

If there’s one thing I’m learning, doesn’t matter where one is in the Western world, getting a new house in the 21^st century requires…a local Home Depot! And Huw and I quickly found Spain’s answer to that just a few miles up the road. There ought to be a Hidden Camera type reality show that features non-native speaking foreigners going into such a place. Seriously. Our first time there, I’m sure, was hysterical to watch for the locals. Not only were we turned around tying to find shit, with our giant-ass cart that’s tough to maneuver down the aisles (yeah, that’s universal too!) but now imagine not being able to read signs and packages and instructions, etc. Holy hell – it took us 45 minutes just to choose a freakin’ set of bed sheets and pillow cases ‘cuz we couldn’t figure out what went with what and the difference between this that and the other!!! eeeeyyyy carummbaa!!

Gettin' down to work!

And then there’s yard work. Wow! Are we ever working our asses off outside, trying to clear away and tend to the jungle-like overgrowth that is the grounds. Imagine steep slopes of this “hillside Spanish villa” entangled with various plant forms from large agave cactuses (cacti??), thick mounds of grasses, yuccas, ivy and the horrendously barbed, spindly vines that can only be described as the WORST STINKING DEVIL plant on earth!! CRIMINEY it’s awful!!! Days we’ve spent now clearing brush, pulling vines, and pruning trees. It’s hot, dirty, nasty work, but honestly, pretty fun! Let’s hope one of us doesn’t end up in a sticker-bush, scratched-up heap at the bottom of the hill! Think I came close a couple of times…ah yes, life in Spain has indeed taken a turn!

Finally, last but not least, I make a quick nod to our new neighbors…to the south, an Algerian French family who come ‘round on holidays to lie in the sun and “get away” from their home outside of Paris (get AWAY from their home in PARIS??!!! Shheeesh!) Only the teenage girl speaks English, none of them really speak Spanish, so talking is a bit tricky. They invited us over for coffee. But alas, Huw didn’t really want to go. Doesn’t much like the French. It’s a British thing…blame history for that one. To the north of us is an older, German woman, who also comes on holiday now and again. She’s a lawyer, apparently, and seems to take some pleasure in chatting us up over the fence to inform us ALL about the goings on of the previous owners. You know the type. A bit of a busy-body -- German style. One day she went on and on about some “illegal” additions made to the house. We tried to tell her that everything had been cleared. The city updated the records and they were stamped and signed accordingly. “harrummpff” she exclaimed in her thick German tongue. Rolling her eyes she added, “don’t be zo zure…dey only tell you dat…ze Spanish lie about zuch dings!” yeah, ok, lady. Thanks for the advice. Now why don’t you go remove your large, white granny-pantys you got hanging out there on the line? Jeez! We can see them from our pool!

Just another night on the hill

Well…I must run now. Huw’s busily trying to identify which light switches go to which lights and which keys fit which locks. And I gotta washing machine instruction manual written entirely in Spanish that I need to figure out. Hasta luego!