Introducción, SpanishMintcovered
September 23rd,
2017
5:15pm
My
hands fall on warm rod iron railings and clasp tightly as I lean over this
vaguely familiar balcony as far as it lets me. My neck craned, my toes
tippy. I had this unfounded desire that sprung me from the desk chair I had
started to think was slowly moulding into my body, to look as deeply as possible
into the distance of this narrow, winding side road, to see as many of these
ancient and intricate buildings that line the skinny streets, towering almost
threateningly if it weren't for each and every balcony like mine, strewn in
perfect vertical rows reaching 4 stories above me, each littered with forgotten
flowers (thriving regardless), bravely swaying laundry, and curtain corners
caught in last night’s hasty retirement.
I
take in the deepest breath my lungs can house, my only defense against the lump
in my throat that has been swelling since sunrise. And two different times
throughout today I almost caved and called home just to spill my frustrations and
anxieties and honest to goodness deep-rooted fears that have grown in vines around my organs, twisting and
spiraling quicker and tighter. But what can they do? All I would accomplish is breaking their
hearts to watch me fall apart. I’ve never felt like this so quickly in a new
life, and I realize now how underestimated this move of all moves was.
But
perhaps I should rewind, back to the true first impressions of this exciting
new chapter (because I swear, those impressions were shiny and bright!). I will
have plenty of time to admit defeat in all of its chronological order…
...Wednesday,
September 20th 2017
9:00pm
9:00pm
Listening
to the aircraft’s safety demonstration for the thousandth time in the hundredth
language I’ve heard it in. Staring at the most beautiful Portuguese flight
attendant strap his oxygen mask on with an incredibly sexy efficiency.
His huge brown eyes darting around our section of the plane, not nervously,
just… unsure where to rest. He knows I am watching him closely. He fumbles with
the safety pamphlets. There is an empty seat to my right, an adorable elderly
Portuguese couple, maybe 75 years of age, to my left. They shared warm smiles
when I helped them with their in-flight entertainment remotes. My luggage was
not overweight. I was randomly selected for a bag swab search before I even hit
the security line, and then sent straight through with priority boarders. I had
time for my last Dragon Pearls tea and 2 whole episodes of Netflix before
boarding. The flight attendant just smiled at me. We are taking off 3 minutes early…
I am a very happy traveller.
And just like that, my whole body tingles with the very most familiar
anticipation. That fernweh buzzing… I have absolutely no idea what lies
ahead of me or what is waiting on the other end of this 11 hour journey. But
still, I feel so sure. I feel so confident. It all feels so second nature. This tingle,
these butterflies, it is freedom. Unbound, unhinged, unmasked freedom. And it’s
all me, I’m all I’ve got now, and I couldn't feel more okay with that.
A baby cries many rows in front of me, I am smiling as our plane
rumbles and rolls onwards down the runway.
I am holding on to this liberation buzz and I am nudging myself gently
to take the plunge and open the first of 4 plane letters. I can do this. They
are envelopes absolutely bursting with love and pride and encouragement and
understanding. That last one most importantly of all… they understand. They
know this is who I am and they love me regardless. There is nothing to be too
too sad about, and it's not fair to have chosen to live this life I live, but
to also be sad for the consequences of that choice. Don’t be sad. You are
losing so much in terms of comfort and familiarity, face time with loved ones,
the ease of Canadian life… but it is nothing to be sad about, because that just isn’t fair.
My life is full of discovery and freedom and inspiration and adventure.
It really and truly is (that is not just some myth of the wayward traveller!). It is
everything that I wanted it to be, sitting among the clouds (in the moment of
exact take off) heading onwards to my 5th abroad life. I can’t have
it both ways. I can’t feel euphoria in fleeing but also remorse for leaving it
all behind. I refuse to be anything but grateful and eternally in debt to the
universe for all of the beauty and opportunity she has presented to me. Which
means, I refuse to be sad.
I will miss these people, harder and deeper with each departure.
I will miss them with every inch of my wandering heart. But I don’t have to be
sad about that, and I hope they aren’t either. So I will crack the seal on
these thoughtfully and carefully crafted cartas
(look at me go!!), and I will let some tears fall, but they will be happy
tears. Happy for the deep love these notes will inspire and detail. Happy to be
worthy of the words my most loved ones have strung together for me, letting
myself believe them to be true.
I can do this.
Here I go.
Here I go.
7am
of my first time change. Have made it to Portugal! And the sun is peeking
through a clear, crisp sky, shedding pastel pinks and blues. I can see
beautiful architecture in the distance as I’m dismounting the steep steps of
the aircraft; archways and roof peeks like I’ve never seen before… someone’s
cellphone rings an accordion tone, the foreign words of this first stopover
float around me and I realize before I’ve even reached the last step… I am in Europe! I can feel it
already. Pretty girls with dark trestles and practiced frowns, old men in
berets. Olive skin, quick side glances from fellow adventure-bound travellers. Maybe
they wonder what brought me here, just as I wonder where they are going and who
they might meet there. I am in Europe and I am officially just one hop and one
skip away from my new Spanish life.
8:30pm,
I have an honest to goodness lump in my throat, like real tears of joy could
spring if I let them, a cluster of giddy butterflies that travelled north and
laced themselves around my vocal chords. What’s better is I’ve got the most
fantastic cure for it… my first small swigs of vino blanco, sitting in my first
Spanish café, having ordered my first Spanish meal (using actual Spanish
words!), after the most wonderful first few hours in my brand new Spanish life.
Today I wandered Gran Via and took in actual real-life eyefuls
of still frames I have been following on Instagram for months now… I smiled at
strangers and let the potentially overwhelming bustle of a really (really) big
city street flow through me. I set up my Spanish phone, I snagged a piso
viewing for tomorrow (possibly too good to be true…), and I have just taken my
first bite of an absolutely mouth watering chicken ranch roasted veg Panini.
I’m listening to two Spanish men laughing and toasting their own Thursday night
vino victories, and watching helmet-masked boys kick starting big strapping
motorbikes, off to steal the night with a beautiful other, no doubt. It’s hard
to do this feeling any justice at all by written word. But even just trying,
stringing words together like this again, after so many years of keeping it all
to myself, it feels really nice.
Friday,
September 22nd
10:15am
I need to make my way back to Chueca for checkout soon or else I’d be
sipping café leche con churros! Save
it for another morning J.
It is beautiful and sunny and instead I am stealing a moment to put some of it
into words. On a park bench shared by a tiny old Spanish woman who asks (with her
hands) why I am sleeveless on this brisk Friday morning. The sun and the breeze
feel fantastic to me, though she is bundled from head to knee (+ adorable black
leather loafers). I am of course taken back to my days in Northern Italy as I
stroll the buzzing, eager morning streets. I pass cafes packed to the bursting
point with men in suits and women in smart skirts, shooting espresso as
if it is the national sport, or their new day’s right of passage. Those coffee
grind smells mix with subtle colognes and the last hints of summer floral. I
feel high off these scents floating lazily on the breeze, weaving in and around
morning joggers and fashionistas and me.
6:45pm
He
had no regard for the English language, no attempts to accommodate for a
foreigner (even one so clearly and painfully new to the city). He had cheap
looking gold rings on almost every finger, 2 chains strung around his thick
neck. Noticeably more than a tuff of hair busting through the open buttons of
his thin (stained) dress shirt. Thick eyes browns interlocked above the bridge
of his nose. He hardly looked us in the face when trying to answer our many
questions (thankfully translated by my newest and bestest local buddy) about
his falsely advertised piso… I knew it had to have been too good to be true,
but it was a learning experience in the least!
Feeling
bummed and a bit discouraged by this total bust of an apartment viewing this
afternoon – the pictures in his listing certainly did not exist at this address
he gave us! But I’m staying hopeful and positive and working hard to search
other areas. And thankfully, I am doing all of that from the comfort of my very
own temporary bedroom so generously offered to me by probably the most
fantastic first Spanish friend I could have ever hoped for. It is amazing to be
sitting at a desk and eating a bowl of cereal, sipping tea in my pjs instead of
cram-jammed into a tiny 10-bed hostel dorm where I couldn’t even sit upright in
my bottom bunk. I am so lucky to have made this connection (or for the universe
to have made it for me). She is kind and she is generous and our personalities
are already falling in line so effortlessly; fast friends for sure.
Her
little balcony doors are wide open and the evening air / post-Friday work shift
voices are pulling me to venture out… but I have a whole year ahead of me for
fun. What I DON’T have… is a place of my own to live during that year! So I
will stay seated here, scrolling through listing after listing, calling phone
number after phone number, sending message after message, praying that
something opens up. It will! It has to… doesn’t it?
Saturday,
September 23rd
7pm
…but
it feels like I have been here, sat in this desk chair, searching for pisos,
dropping my standards and raising my monthly rent budget for MONTHS on end. How
is it possible I have only even been here in this country for 2 days? It has
been the toughest day in a really long time. But I’ve made a new tea with fresh
lemon, I’ve lit an incense and I am instantly at ease. In fact, this scent has
me transported back to my earliest days in Aus (how lucky I was to arrive with
accommodations put in place for me…). It brings me back to those early winter
mornings. To yoga. To peace and certainty and trust.
I
take a deep breath, I fold for a deep stretch.
Trust. Kelsey, you
have to trust that this is going to
work out. Your unwavering faith in the universe has yet to fail you, and that
is because you have let that trust remain blind and bold. You will absolutely
not begin to question that now, or to wonder how it all ever worked out so
nicely in the past, when this here seems utterly impossible. It is not for you
to take other’s panicked Facebook group comments to heart, while it seems
hundreds of other Madrid newcomers have been experiencing this failure to
secure accommodation for many many many more days than I have even been here…
That is not your path, those are not your conversations with the world. An
apartment is out there waiting for you, you just have to keep searching for it,
keep sending out those come get me vibes! Trust in its existence.
And
then, without even the smallest exaggeration in timing… my phone rings. My phone rings! I’ve been
ex-girlfriend-stalker-calling seemingly every landlord within a 1-hour radius
trying to scrape together some hope that an apartment (which isn’t a broom
closet, though even Harry Potter was livin pretty sweet compared to me at this
point) exists… But the only success I’d had was in memorizing the unique dial
tone of the Spanish line. As it rang. And rang. And rang. WhatsApp messages
viewed but unanswered or never viewed at all. Emails and agency inquiries
allllll ignored or somehow vanished. With all of this swirling through my head
in pure confusion as to how my phone
could possibly be ringing right now, I almost didn’t answer it in time!
His
name is Frank and he spoke fast second language English, but English
nonetheless! He was patient as I asked my questions (trying not to scare him
off), and stern with his responses and expectations of a tenant. He seems
reasonable, fair, trustworthy. I’ll be honest, as he spoke about his basic
rules and general establishment of decency and respect around the house and
among flat mates, I found that he reminded me of my dad, how I’ve always
assumed my dad would be the world’s best landlord, envious of every tenant he’s
ever had (which isn’t many, because they always stick around for so long!). I
figured, any opportunity presented to me at this point was not something I
could pass up. One that had me thinking of my favourite man on this planet,
well that was just a bonus. He emailed me his listing, I scrolled through the
images, I read about the surrounding running trails and nearby rec center
(which specifically advertised yoga), and I started to feel those happy little
butterflies cautiously spread their happy little wings at the pit of my
stomach, swooping tiny bits of hope up with every flutter.
I
will travel half an hour from the heart of the city to an unknown suburb
tomorrow morning to view this out-of-the-blue listing, and just trust that this
is the little timely gift the universe was pushing me to my limits in order to
present.
I
have eaten bowl after bowl of cereal, too scared to venture out and explore
this city that I know will grab me by the heart and never let me go. I’ve felt
I can’t let myself do that, I can’t relax or enjoy these moments even for an
hour until I have put a semi-permanent roof over my head. But this phone call,
this truly eerie timing of possibility has actually genuinely eased some of
that anxiety… and so, I am granting myself dinner on the town with another new
friend I have yet to actually ‘meet’. If ever a day in my life I had earned a cerveza… today tops it.
1:22am,
People
are out eating bananas and pushing baby strollers and sitting down to full
plates of dinner at this hour! Honest to goodness we have just spent the last 3
hours wandering around these inner city streets trying for the life of us to
find somewhere to take in all 7 of us! Every single establishment is packed to
the brim with apparently the world’s highest metabolisms and weirdest
sleep schedules. I just walked home solo feeling certain the clock had rewound
to 8 or maybe 9 o’clock – no way it
could be after 1am!!
It
was a smiley little night meeting another new fast friend, her sister, and 4
other girls in our same teaching program. Everyone swapped small details with
the newcomer (me), offering advice and tips from their previous 3 weeks here
(agency fee perks). A tighter-knit little squad that I’m not sure is overly
easy to penetrate, but absolutely lovely girls nonetheless. Mason jars of beer,
a mojito of mostly Sprite, and a German lesson in how to toast Jager, and then
(thankfully) a mutual decision to call it a night.
I
feel safe wandering home, catching the slightest of snapshots into all of these
wide-awake 1am lives; couples on cell phones with a shared plate between them,
children dodging reprimands, chasing a balls too close to la carretera. Garbage trucks moving mysteriously effortless through
each dangerously close calle. I feel
a lil buzzy, and I’m not sure if it’s the booze, or just that fernweh freedom
renegotiating itself with the possibilities of tomorrow…
Sunday,
September 24th
9:30pm,
Slow wander home after my first Spanish savasana (and nothing quite
beats the very first visit to each new local studio in each of my new abroad
lives). I can't focus on my bossy Google maps with so much going on around me
here on the streets of Lavapiés in
the La Latina suburb of central Madrid. Hundreds of people of
absolutely every age, size and ethnicity. A man walks briskly trilling his
harmonica steadily. Big burly bulldogs muscle around street lamps off leash. Graffiti
blending one street right into another, bleeding colours and stories and
creatures unknown. And it takes allll of my will power to remember my bank
account (& my current yoga attire..) as every consecutive restaurant that
spills over the cobblestone side streets calls for me to stop in for just one
small jar of cerveza! How fresh it would feel after the perfect practice of
both familiar and brand new poses. I'm already wandering down Calle Juan as if
I live here, as if I've been here for months (or a dreamy 5 years, like my babe
of a yoga instructor and new friend has been!).
I am finally starting to breathe easy in this life, or at least let
myself consider it. T’s are not crossed and i’s are not dotted, but it was a
worthy day and I am that much closer to having my own little Spanish space.
That being said, I am being extra cautious tonight not to let the allure and
the buzz and the vibrancy of these small inner city streets wrap me up and
carry me away, because if all goes well tomorrow I won’t actually end up being
the little Big City Girl I thought this new life might bring (something I was
always a bit wary of!), I will remain the Smaller Suburb Gal.
This is not something I’m letting myself be bummed about. If my lack of
sleep due purely to constant noise (at all hours of every night I’ve been here,
straight through to 6am, banana eaters, baby strollers) is any indication of
what practical living in the city center is really like, I’m not sure it was
for me. I really don’t believe that yet,
but something tells me this was the Universe’s way of sparing me that stress
and unsettlement later on… (at least I’m choosing to see it that way!).
Besides, it’s much easier to hop the
25 minute train into the bustle of it all whenever I feel restless in my tamer
neighborhood; it would have been impossible to go the other way around trying
to escape it if this craziness ever got to be too much.
Now let me tell you about my potential piso J
I
emerge from the Metro, a quick 1 transfer from the city center, into an actual
oasis! Trees tower over the top step and I am in a forest of greenery before I
even fully reach ground level. Directly in front of me, this forest opens up to
a wide-spreading garden compartmentalized by tall rod-iron trellises,
holding on tightly to the last of this summer season’s company in camellia and
climbing rose vines. The hot afternoon sun pours over the wide walking path,
all of it encompassing various rustic fountains, jets of water still shooting
tall and proud, cascading in pretty petals back into their respective shallow
pools.
Apartment building #16 (if you know me at alllll, you know
16 is my favourite number!), piso #13A (if you know my family at alllll, you
know 13 is a lucky number for us! Lol). As grungy looking from the outset as you’d
likely expect an older apartment complex to look, an elevator to squish maybe 3
people max and absolutely reeking of smoke, another cramped little foyer which
welcomes us into the 3-bedroom apartment, but it opens up quickly to a narrow
kitchen and spacious main living room.
No carpets! Washer and dryer! Cute little balcony giving it
a penthouse feel from way up high here (haha hardly)! A working toilet, hot
water, minimally but adequately furnished bedrooms – it’s a good one. I soon
learn I am the first to view this piso since it has become vacant, but another
girl is on her way up the Metro and my property manager must scoot back to meet
her.
The metro is about a 4 minute walk each way… instinct kicks
in and I realize I have roughly 8 minutes to inspect, decide, and claim my room
before another opinion gets any fair say. I am drawn to the first bedroom on
the right; slightly more spacious with a double bed. Nice big wall-length
closet with actual doors vs. a curtain. Great park-facing window. However, the
first thing I notice in this seemingly preferable room is a big, chunky, old
fashion dark wooden desk with its unnecessarily thick drawers and outdated shellac
finish.
Then there is bedroom 3. Smaller in depth, single bed, awkward
curtain drawn shelves, paint peeling from the walls, opposite facing window,
perfect little simple white wooden IKEA desk. …
2 minutes have passed. Without thinking twice about the probability
or possible consequence, without even mentally measuring the width against the
incredibly narrow hallway, or the weight against the not so strong me, I start
yanking the hunker out into the small shared space between bedrooms. The edges
catch my door frame and it won’t rotate to any practical angle. 4 minutes have
passed. I’m channeling my inner Ross (‘PIVOT! PIIIVVVOOOTTT!’), working it into
the bathroom across the hall, climbing on top of it to access every edge of it
in my quickly-coming-to-realize-how-dumb-this-was panic, but finally I get it
inline with the entrance to bedroom 3! 6 minutes have passed! Thank goodness
for IKEA and it’s cheap, easily dismantled furniture as the cute, simple, white
desk is actually comprised of 2 separate (easily transported) pieces! I climb
over the miserable mammoth filling the entire hallway with one piece of my new
friend and then the other.
8 minutes have passed. I use all of my weight to shove that
beast into perfect place of it’s pretty predecessor. I tuck the chair with the
torn cushion fabric gently (and gracefully!) into it’s new, meatier home. The
first bedroom on the right feels about 10 square feet roomier. The keys jangle
in the lock and I wipe my brow quickly before meeting my new roommate.
Monday,
September 25th
9:30pm
All
ridiculous efforts made yesterday have entirely paid off! I returned to
Favourite Number Sixteen Lucky Number Thirteen about noon today to transfer a
slightly daunting amount of cash to mystery caller Frank in order for his
property manager to hand over my keys and make me an official Spanish
piso-renter! No other roommates had gathered the first 3 months rent so
quickly, so it was just me, myself, and my little white desk left alone to
dance around in my undies! I turned my country music 8tracks up and I laughed
at myself in all of my continual good fortune (I even found an unaccounted for
bottle of bubbly in my fridge!? If that’s not the universe just rolling her
eyes and smiling at me for ever even considering things wouldn’t work out, then
I don't know what is).
Honestly,
nothing feels better than physically setting up a new life, giving the
treasured belongings that made the 20kilo cut for luggage allowance a new
permanent place, as I wonder how often any of it will actually get used or
worn. It always seems to come together so organically, as if those sweaters
were always meant to be folded and tucked away on that exact shelf, or the not
entirely tacky colourful basket of fake flowers that you found in the kitchen was
always meant to sit perfectly perched outside my windowsill, or those precious
cloth flags of all 7 chakras that you got on your first trip to Bali were always
meant to be hanging precisely and protectively over your desk mirror (another
abandoned item I snagged from a different bedroom, lol).
I
love it. I love my pictures from home all hung in a line. I love my yellow
walls. I love my new tribal pattern print bedding in light pinks and peaches
and mauves. I love laying here, staring at my ceiling, wondering what kind of
comfort or creativity or passion or heart break or inspiration might fill the
space between these 4 walls I can now officially call mine…
Tonight
we celebrate. My first bottle of red sits uncorked (…does it count as
‘uncorked’ if the cork actually technically remains in the bottle… bobbing
around the dark maroon… results of my first ever attempt to use a cork screw?).
I am all dolled up for our first night out on the town, I downplay my neon pink
romper with a homeless-looking knit cardigan as I head back towards the Metro
station, city-bound to meet my girlfriend for free champagne in belated bday
celebrations! Wish me luck…
Tuesday,
September 26th
The struuugggllee is reeeealll! First hangover in a new life always tends to be
extra punishing, as if just because it was consumption in a new country, I
drank as if the entire notion was brand new to me as well lol. My little
Spanish partner in crime and I got up to muuuch too much free sangria and
champagne, but regardless of this deep and literal ache throughout my entire body/life, it was a friggen blast. We met
so many handsome men and cheersed to so many happy firsts and danced our little
butts off until an early-morning stumble home.
I
managed to somehow survive my first Primark shop to gather the finishing
touches for my bedroom (of all the days I could have chosen to need to be
productive…), nearly died trying to navigate this 6-floor department store
(Primark is essentially the reason I am not a shopper). Thank goodness for
friendly English speaking employees who didn’t seem to notice (or at least
didn’t let on) that I was still drunk! Made it home by 5pm to binge watched
Netflix all evening, just like home J
Wednesday,
September 27th
7:40pm
7:40pm
Things
I am trying to hold on to…
My
tea being the exact right temperature for sipping … that smallest window of
perfection.
This
glorious evening breeze drifting casually through my wide open window … if only
this in-between season would last forever.
Enjoying
the shrills and shrieks from neighborhood children chasing each other with
skipping ropes and sports balls in this final hour of today’s sunshine … maybe
soon these sounds will correlate with over crowded classrooms or undesired
recess duty.
The
light from this final hour of today’s sunshine … I hate turning on that
artificial switch.
Strolling
around my piso in my undies, still a solo resident, making cup after cup of Chá
verde … it isn’t likely my new roommates will take to my permanent desire to be
naked quite like my last roommates did…
A
mild glow lingering in my cheeks, memories of this day of firsts still fresh
and inviting. Conversation and roof top wine and a long stroll through the city centre,
given so many reasons to let this glow bubble over into an easy smiiiile. A
handsome Spanish man with an Aussie accent (if it existed, of course I’d be the
one to find it), an ease in swapping little life details, a curiosity of all
that’s left to uncover. A perfectly successful first date in my little Spanish
life. Y fue una hermosa
experiencia.
The
anxieties of all that is left to organize, the appointments to book, the ID
cards to obtain (yes, plural), the orientations to attend… it is all rushing in
now as I have no more real ‘settling in’ excuses. Tomorrow will be absolutely
productive! And undoubtedly marvellous.
Thursday,
September 28th
9pm, Just in from my
first neighbourhood run. Not so much throughout the neighbourhood, but in and around the massive
park across the street from me. It was hard to stay focused on a decent pace
with all of the views to take in… Hoards of rose bushes surrounding water
fountains, every single perfectly places bench occupied by young loves, old
lovers, new parents, joggers stretching like me… I ran the trails up up up
until I reached the peek of a hill opening up to a beautiful lookout area. All
of Madrid city centre spread out in the distance. It really is something else.
A
deserted sandy playground put a bit of variation into my cardio intervals, but
overall, I really did just let myself take it all in, cruising casually around
dozens of families and couples and pet owners. I’m sitting squeaky clean, fresh
mug of green, feeling so grateful for all that this last week has been for me.
I can’t call it
anything but a success, despite the ups and downs of brand
new life
difficulties! I still can’t believe I’m here, that all my days at home this
summer
really are behind me, along with all of those nearest and dearest,
though I am so lucky to continue sharing every day with each and every one of them
(god bless Snapchat & WhatsApp). It really and truly does feel like the
beginning of something wonderful here…
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