Anonymously yours

Toward the end of my 14-year stint, living and working in Small Town, USA I experienced lots of "Norm-from-Cheers" moments. It didn't matter where I went -- not only to my favorite hangouts, but also other places such as the grocery store, nail salon, bank, and even dentist office-- it felt like everyone knew my name and, in some cases, rank, number, and personal history as well. There were occasions, like during my divorce when it seemed my dental hygienist knew as much about the circumstances as I did, when being a familiar fixture felt more claustrophobic than it did cozy. But most of the time, I viewed those moments and feelings of familiarity as my reward for making efforts to be part of a greater community, an achievement that was only experienced after years of living and working in one place.

So when I moved away from it all, and lived for a time as a stranger in new and faraway land, I worried whether my newfound anonymity would feel bothersome and even lonely.

It didn't.

I discovered, with great surprise, that being unknown in a community, not only had its upsides (like not feeling obligated to get that biweekly manicure and pedicure to keep up an image), it was also downright empowering.

Without a known, personal, history to weigh me down, I could reinvent myself and be whoever I wanted to be. Not that I would intentionally deceive for nefarious reasons, but if I wanted to pretend to be interested in soccer to help secure a party invite, for example, there wasn't anyone around to point out I had never watched an entire game prior to moving to Europe. Or, when I found myself in the company of the chemists who worked with my husband, I could pretend that I understood a little something about their projects because no one knew that I had failed my high school chemistry course (along with ytping).

Without coworkers, friends, or family, I also didn't have any obligations. In fact, for the longest time, I didn't have to clutter my brain by memorizing a single digit in a phone number. I never had to attend a tupperware party or play a game at a baby shower because I didn't get any invites. In fact, I almost forgot I had a mailbox, so I never checked it. Yes, I experienced complete and total liberation.

Well, that's what I kept telling myself.

However, now that I've passed the one year mark of living and socializing in Barcelona, my anonymity is fading away. These days, I try not to walk Charlie down the street without wearing make-up or, at the very least, really big sunglasses because I will inevitably run into someone I know. In fact, I have met so many nice people that I am chained to an appointment calendar to keep up with all my engagements. What a chore, right?

And then there are those Norm-from-Cheers moments, which now come more frequently as work to integrate in my new home. Unfortunately, language barriers have prevented me from getting to know my new dental hygienist all that well. But I know, with just a little more work, it's only a matter of time.

What does a rooster say?

When learning a language, there are certain things you're never going to learn by sitting in a classroom.

For example, It completely escaped my notice that I had gone the inaugural concert of OOO DOS last month. I mistakenly had thought the band I saw was called EWE TOO (U2).

On another occasion, when a friend invited me to dinner by e-mail, graciously writing in English instead of her native tongue:

Hi!!! How are you? Do you have plans for tonight? Im going with some friends to have ....mmmmhhh dinner (or is it lunch?) jiji around Gracia.

I responded by saying I'd be happy to have lunch at Jiji around Gracia. Right?

Wrong. You can imagine my embarrassment when I discovered that

Jiji = Hee Hee

or that

"Ah ha!" is actually "ajá."

I could go on forever.

These are the little things that I would not have learned any other way than by living and breathing in a Spanish-speaking country. And all I can say is Wuau, err..uh.. I mean Wow!

Absense makes the heart grow fonder

This is the first day in three weeks that I have been alone and I have to admit I am loving every solitary minute. June (and half of July) flew by in a whirlwind. Half a dozen over-night guests, a series of dinner parties, and lots and lots of touring this fair city's numerous and famous sights made for a jam-packed month. I had a good time, but am ready for a couple weeks of quiet before welcoming a second wave of visitors in August.

Today, Max boarded a plane to Milan, our other home technically, but one that I have not visited since an initial house-hunting trip months ago. My husband and I had originally agreed that I would join him in Milan this week, but at the last minute I had a change of heart.

"Sweetie, would you mind if I stayed behind in Barcelona? The house hasn't been cleaned in weeks and I don't feel right leaving it in shambles."

(Translation: I love you, but need some quiet time.)

Max, always the easy-going half of our pair, let me off the hook without a hint of guilt. While many would think me crazy for giving up a trip to Italy and my mother actually berated me over the phone (with a "you should go with your husband as often as possible because it's bad for your marriage not to" snipe), Max understands my needs and encourages me to do for myself and be a little selfish when I feel the need. God, I love that man!

The new Mandy pad

Like a Blister on the Bun...

Today I made it my mission to find a free and working, open wireless connection in Barcelona. You would think this not to have been a difficult task. After all, plenty of coffee shops and cafes throughout the city prominently display WIFI signs on their premises. But after ordering a cafe cortado at no fewer than three of these (including one called "iCafe") before establishing a connection, I was buzzing from too much caffeine and no Internet.

Note to self: Don't make yourself at home at a restaurant and order until you know the "open wireless" actually exists and is functioning.

I spent the day walking and searching -- down Rambla Catalunya, up Paseo de Gracia, across Gran Via and Mallorca--while making the vain mistake of continue along the several kilometers without the benefit of proper footwear. Sure, those cherry pumps looked cute with my floral-patterned Ann Taylor skirt, but by the end of the afternoon I had a berry-sized blister to match them. Believe it or not, at the ripe-old age of nearly 42, I am beginning to understand the flaws in my fashion-over-comfort mantra.

Maybe it was all the caffeine, but as I trudged along Barcelona's many sidewalks, a tune from Oleta Adams popped into mind serving as both the anthem and ear worm d'jour.

There are hills and mountains between us
Always something to get over
If I had my way, then surely you would be closer
I need you closer

Yes, I have issues. But an expat without Internet is worse than a floral-patterned Ann Taylor skirt without pumps.

And I have the blister to prove it.

Almost perfect

Sometimes I think I ought to re-title my blog. Instead of Martinis for Two it would be called:

Living Almost Perfect
The search for good Mexican food in Europe

This is because with the exception a of a complete lack of spicy salsa and a decent bean burrito, my European experience has been nothing short of wonderful. I enjoyed my time (even though the vineyards of the Rhineland Pfalz were a little quiet) in Germany and found the people to be warm and friendly, which made up for the many cold and rainy days. And now that I live in the land of constant Mediterranean sun, I am basking in my new apartment, neighborhood, city, and life.

Now over one month into this first chapter, I still find no cause for complaint in Barcelona. Sure, there are issues. The governmental bureaucracy is maddening and utility service providers operate at a snail's pace (I do not have Internet access yet, por ejemplo ), but these minor annoyances do not take away from my good impressions of this marvelous city.

I love it here. And if it weren't for family and friends back in the United States, I would tell Max it was time put down permanent roots and make Barcelona home.

Part of my joy comes from my preference for city living. I like that Max and I can walk to our favorite cafes and bars on date night and that everything I would ever need for daily existence (with the exception of a good Mexican cantina) can be found within a 6-block radius of my flat. But it's more than just conveniences. I like the vibe here. It speaks to me. Now if only I could speak back.

Good vibrations

I've never been through SERE training-- the military program used to teach soldiers how to resist torture and now used as a basis for the CIA's own "enhanced interrogation" techniques--but I have had to sit through company required, and somewhat tortuous, cultural awareness training courses before taking on a new expat assignment.

Ok, so maybe "torturous" isn't a good word for feeling of sitting in a classroom, listening to hours of cultural stereotypes, learning about local customs and history, but at the time I had to endure the programs I honestly would have preferred root canal or maybe a good old-fashioned colon cleansing. Especially when it came to my training on Germany, the information I learned--about how the German people love to correct you and say no, how they might call the cops if your dog barked after 10pm--proved to be exactly opposite of my positive experiences in the year and few months I lived in the country.

So recently, when I was told in a cultural awareness training that the people of Catalonia are more reserved and hard to get to know, I filed the information away in my brain's "I'll Just Have to See for Myself" folder. This folder is a veritable storehouse of stuff-- from things I've heard in Sunday services, to idle gossip, to anything spewed from a FOX news personality. You listen politely and file it away for another day... or not.

But I have to tell you, once again, this generalization about a people has not been my personal experience. Granted, I've lived in Barcelona for less than a month. But during this time, I have experienced kindnesses from complete strangers all over the city.

My first week, sitting on a bench in front of El Corte Ingles (a popular department store) along Paseo de Gracia, I struck up a brief conversation (in my broken Spanish) with a Catalan woman, who was waiting for her mother to finish shopping. She learned I was new to the country. I learned her sister lived in California. But after only 5 minutes, the woman offered me her phone number. "If you have any questions at all, you can call me," she said. I thought this gesture a fluke at first, but Max and I had a similar experience last night as we walked Charlie around the neighborhood. A man, born and bred in Barcelona and also walking his dog, struck up a conversation with us. Before we knew it, names and numbers were exchanged.

Some people have gone beyond exchanging numbers and offering to answer questions.

During my very first night of salsa class, I met a local woman, who offered to get together with me to practice Spanish. And when I didn't take the initiative after two weeks, she called and invited me for lunch and shopping. I accepted, had a lovely time, and already feel as though I've made a new friend.

From the woman who tore off a piece of her bocadillo jamon (a ham sandwich) and fed it to Charlie as we waited to cross the street to the kindly man at the neighborhood bar, who buys me a single rose from a street vendor every time Max and I enjoy a cocktail before retiring to our apartment, I am struck by the friendliness of this city.

Perhaps things would be different and a little tougher if I lived in a small town away where Spanish isn't widely spoken and fewer outsiders settle down. But at least here, in Barcelona, my first impressions are that the Catalan people are open, friendly, and very helpful.

The business of starting anew...

Over the last couple weeks, I've spent many hours walking the streets of Barcelona, not with an eye toward entertaining future visitors that have already reserved their spot at Hotel Mandy, but rather toward day-to day existence as I settle in to life in yet another new country. It's an almost laughable contrast-- to walk right past famous buildings of Gaudi's architecture and hardly blink, but almost break out into an all-out happy dance when I come across a store that carries Old El Paso Mexican products.

No. I'm not ashamed to admit this. When you've experience expatriation before, you understand that immediate priorities center around seeking that which makes you feel at home and comfortable over exploring the foreign surroundings. After all, there's plenty of time for touring once guests arrive (in four weeks).

Compared to the snail-like pace of my start in Germany, I have accomplished quite a bit in Spain. I've joined a gym, started salsa classes two times a week, gone to an expat-meet-up, and gotten on a first-name basis with some of the local business owners. I think I'm making good progress in establishing a home--which, for me, includes more than just a roof over my head.

This is not say the roof part isn't important. When Max and I visited our future apartment we were disappointed to discover almost no progress has been made on important building renovations. In fact, since we signed the contract in late January, the owners still have not acquired final permits for either the electrical or the elevator (and our apartment is on the top floor). Moreover, no work has been done on the private, roof-top terrace, which was a huge selling point for us. And even though we have verbal assurances we can move in by May 15th, I can't help but wonder if we don't have more bargaining power by holding out until we are completely satisfied.

Still, the inevitable relocation and logistical problems haven't put a damper on my mood. I can already tell I will enjoy this new life in Barcelona, which is complete with an elliptical machine, the makings for a decent burrito, and salsa dancing.

Really, could I ask for anything more?

Sunshine above my shoulders

Since January and especially after Max moved to Barcelona without me, I kept track of the Catalan weather through a customized, desktop widget. As I suffered through the grey, damp, German winter, my weather widget told me that Max was enjoy near spring-like conditions in Spain. Day in day out for nearly 90 days, I saw clouds, while Max soaked up the sun rays.

A good wife would be happy for her husband's fortune, but I was green with envy. It wasn't too long before I created another widget--a countdown until the move to Barcelona--which accompanied my weather tracker and gave me hope that I, too, would soon see the glowing orb which had eluded me through an especially harsh German winter.

As the countdown ticked down--5 days, 4 days, 3, 2, 1--you can imagine my excitement. Soon, so very soon, I would no longer need those Vitamin D supplements because I'd be soaking up fortified, solar rays.

Only now that I've moved, I haven't seen the sun. This week, Barcelona is having German-like weather including cool temperatures, clouds, and lots of rain.

Did I bring the German weather with me? Have I offended Mother Nature and didn't realize it?

What's a woman to do when she desperately needs a lift and the gloomy weather isn't providing one?

She creates her own sunshine by changing her hair style, trading tired, old blonde highlights in for an even lighter, brighter, all-over, blond hair color.

What do you think?




(PS. No comments about my purple and green pajamas, please!)

The Italian Job

Max and I spent this past weekend in Milan, Italy looking for our second home away from homes.

I know it sounds glamorous-- setting up houses and living in two of Europe's most famous cities, Barcelona and Milan--but I do not believe it will be as exciting as it seems.

At the risk of offending any northern Italian readers, I will confess to not being impressed with Milan. With the exception of a small area around the duomo di Milano, I found the city to be drab, dirty, noisy, and confusing.

There. I said it. I have a poor first impression of the Lombard metropolis, famous for its ridiculously pricey fashion houses. After visiting the city, I am very happy our primary home will be located in Barcelona, which I find more beautiful and livable by any comparison.

Nevertheless, the weekend in Milan wasn't a total loss. Max and I found a lovely apartment--a spacious 2 bedroom, 2 bathroom, located just outside the downtown area and close the all-important public transportation. Perhaps with time and a little education of all things Milan, I will come to like the city more and if not, I'll still have my Barcelona retreat.

Ok, so the life may not be glamorous, but it's still pretty darn cool.

Virtual Tour: Our Temporary Digs

Our temporary couch



Our temporary TV



Our temporary bathroom



Two temporary twin beds we pushed together so as not to live like Lucy and Ricky



Temporary kitchen-laundry combo. We also have three wine glasses, 3 forks, 3 spoons and knives, 1 frying pan, 3 pots, a wine opener (very important), two cutting boards, a handful of dishes, and a partridge in a pear tree (o.k., not really the last one).

That is all, folks. Small, clean, comfortable. I'm certainly NOT complaining.

"It's complicated"

Perhaps it's a side effect of all the Vitamin D that I am soaking up through glorious Spanish sun exposure, but I actually have the urge to write.

All is well in Barcelona. I am enjoying a semblance of normal life as part of a couple again--waking up next to someone other than Charlie, preparing a real dinner as opposed to microwaving a Weight Watchers entree, and snuggling on the couch with my favorite fellow while watching a movie downloaded through iTunes. But I'm not only here to keep the home fires burning. There is actually a purpose to my brief Catalan adventure.

I had to be fingerprinted.

I sort of wish I had a tawdry tale to go along with with act of being escorted down to the police station and having all 10 fingers literally blacked with ink, because the worst thing I've ever done in all my life was to skip school one time with my mother's full knowledge and permission.

But sad to say, my time visiting the slammer, sitting in the waiting area with unsavory characters, and being escorted into a small CSI-like laboratory was for "official government purposes" only. It's part of what Max and I both have to do in order to get our visas to live in Spain permanently. Don't ask me why.

Getting through the maze of governmental requirements and documentation would be impossible without the help of a skilled professional. And after months and months of waiting, Max and I finally met with Alvero, a third-party contractor assigned to help us get moved permanently.

We had hoped Alvero might be able to shed light on what paperwork would need to be completed and, more importantly, how long the process would take, but this was not to be. With every question we posed, our skilled professional had only one response:

"It's complicated," he said.

It sure is. In addition to being finger printed, we also had to sign documents in the presence of a notary giving our permissions to have FBI background checks completed. While I attempted to sign the permissions with my best, most readable, John Hancock, I couldn't help but wonder if the time I skipped school would possibly show up on my profile.

This is not unfounded paranoia. I feel as though the slightest problem could cause a delay in this already painfully slow process. For instance, my name changes because of marriage and divorce have generated extra paperwork. And even though I've provided copies of expired passports, which document my series of failed marriages and ever-evolving name, I've been told that the U.S. consulate will be called to verify that name changes can and do happen because of marriage and divorce. This call, alone, will probably set us back a week or two--at least that is what it feels like.

But for now, I'll try not to worry about what is or is not happening and how long it will take before Max and I can truly get on to the business of life as normal. I'm here, enjoying time with my husband, and cooking a little fresh cod for dinner this evening.

It's better than nothing.

I've come a long way, Schatzi

Have you ever noticed, after weeks of dissatisfaction, how unusually good your hair looks the morning before an appointment with the stylist?

With one month and seven days left, I'm having a similar experience when it comes to life in Germany. Despite the cold, winter grayness, my ineptitude when it comes to the language, disdain for anything pork, and the fact that Max was gone 24 out of 30 days last month, I'm having some of the easiest and most memorable times in all my 13 months in this country. Aside from occasional communication difficulties, day-to-day living is relatively comfortable and, sometimes, even a little exciting.

After months and months of living like a shadow of the person I once was, today I prosper.

Don't get me wrong. Living in a foreign place is never easy when compared to being in your home country. But after the initial culture shock wears off and acceptance begins, a person can start to feel "at home" in a foreign country. I am happy I reached this state of mind before leaving Germany.

I also am starting to realize a few of the things I'll miss most once I leave -- taking Charlie on long walks through the vineyards, Tchibo (a unique coffee shop/ houseware and clothing store), Flammkuchen, castle ruins along almost every hillside, and, of course, the new friends I've come know and enjoy over the last several months.

Even though I am determined to look forward to the new experiences and change in scenery that await me and Max in Barcelona, I am also in the mindset to savor every minute of the time I have left here.

Because there are some things you don't want to pantomime

March 28, 2009 marks the first day of a new beginning and new adventure. On this date, I move to Barcelona, Spain, joining my husband who will be relocating a few weeks earlier.

Yes. I am so excited, I can hardly stand myself.

Because we won't be able to move belongings into our permanent residence until May, Max spent yesterday looking for a temporary apartment and found one only a block from where we will be living. This makes me even happier because it gives me early opportunity to get to know "the hood" a little better. First on the agenda? Finding a veterinarian, kennel, and dog groomer because Charlie is one, high-maintenance pupster. Second, locating a hair dresser, nail salon, and a place for waxing because momma is also a tad high maintenance. As far as the rest-- like knowing where to buy groceries-- this can happen, when it happens. Depilation first; eating second. A motto worthy of inscription, no?

Because of these needs, important topics such as waxing and pet grooming come up often during Spanish classes. I've learned from my mistakes of expatriation in Germany by focusing on only the really useful vocabulary first.

"How would you ask for a bikini waxing?" I asked.

My teacher, a native Spanish speaker from Peru, laughs at my questions, but also understands my needs. And, I was pleasantly surprised to learn many important words are the same or similar in Spanish. For those words that are not English conjugates, I have started making flash cards and am drilling them into my brain. I've only got 6 weeks left and there is so much to learn!

If you were moving to a foreign country, what would you want to learn how to ask for first?

Jet setters?

You understand #1 of my Things to Know post wasn't written about my husband, right?

I thought so. I just felt the need to make sure.

However, this statement sparked a lot of comment, and I've decided to share more about my experience having been coupled with, to put it mildly, the wrong person.

I plan to post it on Valentines Day. "Why Valentines Day," you ask.

Because February 14th is not just a day of hearts and flowers for those with a special someone. It is also Snackie's 3rd Annual Self Love Day, a day where we not only proclaim our love for those most important, but also for ourselves. I figure it will be an appropriate subject for Self Love Day because I got into that relationship, in part, because I didn't love myself enough. (By the way, I'll be posting the rules for Self Love Day in a few days, so stay tuned. )

Before I close this post, let me bring you up to speed on a few exciting developments in my life.

First, Max's company has agreed to provide us temporary housing in Barcelona until our new place is ready. So, I will be moving to Spain in just over a month.

We also learned that we might be able to get a small, corporate apartment in Milan, Italy because Max will be spending 50 percent of his time there and it might actually be cheaper than staying in a hotel. I already know a women, who has a place she'd like to rent. This might become a real possibility. We might have two places to call home, one in Spain and one in Milan. How cool would this be??

Deep thought of the day or too much wine?

So you don't have the misimpression that I am sitting at home wallowing in my Maxlessness, let me assure you all is fine. An excellent Spanish Rioja, scented candles, and X-file reruns made for a perfectly delightful Monday evening. Then for two nights in a row, I had dinner plans with girlfriends. Could it be after a year of this expat experience, I am actually developing my very own social life apart from my husband?

Awesome.

Life-- only as good as you make it. Wouldn't you agree?

Patience is a virtue, right?

Max and I returned to Germany without a clear idea of where we might be living once we move to Barcelona. Negotiations on *the apartment* continue, partly because of the southern European sense of time--where no one seems to be in a real rush to close a deal-- and partly because of a 12th-hour revelation that the owner doesn't want to rent to a couple with pets. And since bringing Charlie to Spain is not negotiable, my desire to actually live there has been reduced to a philisophical "if living in this apartment is meant to be, it's meant to be." If not, Max and I have decided to continue searching rather than settle on something we don't absolutely love. We've got time to be picky--while Max has started his job, he won't be able to officially work in Spain until May at the earliest.

You ask: How does Max work as the company's manager of southern Europe without actually living in that part of the continent? Travel, travel, travel. This week, he is in Athens. Next week, it's Italy. The week after, my husband will return to Barcelona. Needless to say, his travel schedule is interferring with our family life. We only have all or part of the weekends together and, quite frankly, it isn't enough.

Still, I need to force a smile on my face and exercise patience. In the long run, Max's career move will be good for us even though, in the short term, it's a pain in the ass. Can you tell patience isn't one of my strong points?

The beat goes on

The task of finding a new home continues in Barcelona. Max and I have looked at numerous flats through out the city as we continue to try to negotiate the one apartment, which captured our fancy at the beginning of the week. The owner is insisting on two things: the company's name on the lease and a 24 month guarantee--much more than the law requires. I suppose in the climate of economic downturn, the proprietor is looking security, but I am not sure Max's company will agree to to terms. We shall see.

For this reason, I have settled on a second and third choice. One is a more typical example of a Barcelona apartment with interesting old, architectural details. It's only downside is the kitchen, which looks to be at least 7 years old. Here in Spain, a renter must pay attention to these sorts of things. My understanding is that if something breaks down (including appliances), it is the renter's responsibility to fix it. And, I am not inclined to buy a new oven for the owner if something goes wrong.

So there you have it. We return to Germany on Saturday, with or without a new place to call home. Still, after the week I'm having, I'm looking forward to going back to a home at all.

PS. I'm returning to my top housing choices today for one final look-and-see. I'm bringing my camera with me, so stay tuned for a few pictures tomorrow.

Coming to you from Barcelona

Max and I are spending a week in Barcelona to get a feel for the area and the housing market. Although I've only spent 1/2 a day here, the first impressions are good ones.

More later!

BRRRutal

The coldest winter in 100 years?!? Is this what I must come back to after frolicking in the balmy 80 degree temperatures of the Caribbean? Are the gods trying to get back at me or is this an example of the evil eye at work?

I can't help but feel a little grateful that this time next year I won't be dealing with the dreary winter of Germany. Although the temperatures do get cold at times, the weather in Barcelona appears to be consistently better than in Deutschland. At least I hope so.

Unfortunately, it's going to be a little longer before I find out for myself. Max has been informed it might take as long as three months before he receives the appropriate permits to work in Spain. We had scheduled a house-hunting trip for next week, but this might have to be rescheduled until we know for sure when we are moving. I feel anxious to begin this new phase in my life, but I suppose I'd better get used to the Southern Mediterranean concept of time.

I feel the sun and sand calling me. Any chance I could just fly back to the Caribbean? No? In that case, you will find me and Charlie huddled under the pile of blankets in my bedroom.

Call me went winter is over or when that damn paperwork from Spain shows up, ok?