The Mechanics of a Mediterranean Move

Once we decided we were moving to Spain, we had several hurdles to clear, including a new virus ravaging the world, before we could relocate. An old Ronald Reagan quote “there are no barriers to our progress except those we ourselves erect,” kept us pressing forward.

The first challenge was getting Steve retired and through his final procedures to confirm remission. His retirement party, also a “Bon Voyage,” went smoothly with friends from Guam and Italy gathering to celebrate his nearly 25 year career; however, he hit a speed bump when all his doctor appointments and procedures were cancelled for March and pushed back to an indefinite time in May, as everything was reallocated to take care of COVID-19 patients. Our apartment lease was up the end of May which left a minuscule window to get all his tests run and sent to his oncologist.

Not one to take “no” for an answer or sit idle, I got on the phone and found a sympathetic nurse. She called around and found a surgery center to do one of Steve’s procedures. But then two days later she called and said the surgery center had cancelled. I sent up a prayer and waited. Three weeks later, the same nurse called and said she had found another surgery center, and she scheduled an appointment for late April. I called the radiology department and got his CT scan scheduled as well. It was going to be just under the wire.

While this was underway, I set about selling and packing our belongings. In our six plus previous international moves, a professional moving company was hired to do all the heavy lifting. This time with Steve retired, we were on our own in a three level townhome with over fifty stairs and tight bends. To make matters more challenging, both of us had major surgery over the previous six months, and we were not at our peak strength, but we pressed on. 

Facebook Marketplace and a coworker and her friend worked miracles. I took photos of all our furniture, and listed it on Marketplace. Offers flew in immediately. When buyers were on their way, we put the furniture they wanted on our driveway so they had contactless pickup, and they made payments instantly with PayPal and Venmo. It was ridiculously easy. Steve was sure I’d have a meltdown selling the antiques and furniture we had collected over the years from Asia and Europe. I waited but no melancholy crept up on me. I asked our children what pieces they wanted, and reserved those, but the rest we sold. It felt good knowing the kids wouldn’t be tasked with purging our belongings once we passed on.

I listed my Korean tansu chest on Marketplace and a Korean man purchased it for his elderly father, who wept when he saw it, as he took nothing with him when he fled North Korea. Our bedroom suites, armoires, lamps and paintings, Steve’s coworker’s children and her friend, who was sleeping on the floor as she let her elderly mother use her bed, gratefully took it all. Everything we amassed in thirty years of marriage was disassembled and lugged away in a handful of hours. I looked around the empty house and, like a kid touching the spot where a tooth used to be, expected to feel a dull ache, but only elation and not pain was the resounding response. I felt joy that our belongings were being repurposed. We slept on an air-mattress on the floor and by lamplight read books, ate the chocolate and stayed buoyed by the pep talks written on cards by a dear friend named Janet who cheered us on day after day.

My circa 1910 French provencal table and buffet had been a sticky point. We bought it from an almost 100 year-old Italian man in Rome, Italy, named Aielo who had purchased it from a British Diplomat in the 1920s. I desperately loved this table, its ornately carved feet, hidden drawers and delicate chairs. Daily meals with our growing family were spent around this table. When the kids grew up and left home, the one constant was them returning for holidays and eating pasta and Panetone and talking around the antique table. I had this romantic notion of the array of loving meals and lively conversations that were centered around this table over the decades. I told myself, I could not part with the table. But…. one day while selling my sofa tables, a lady from Peru, of Italian descent, came by, and she started telling me about her extended family who had just come to the US with nothing but a suitcase. I was moved to give them my dishes, appliances, tablecloths, clothing, curtains, and…. my antique table for next to nothing. She sent me several photos of her family eating Easter dinner around the table, with my dishes and tablecloth. My heart was content knowing the tradition of food, family and conversation around the table continued.

The hardest thing to deal with was the numerous bins of photos from my grandmother, parents who had passed on and my children. Over the years, I had become the unofficial family historian for my maternal line as well as for my husband’s family. I started scanning slides, negatives and photos and uploaded everything to FamilySearch. It was a labor of love to label and preserve these family artifacts. I turned old family 8 mm movies from the 1960s and VHS-C from the 90s into digital movies. I knew I couldn’t leave this to my millennial, minimalist children. Whenever I came upon a barrier on our move to Spain– Goodwill being closed to donations, consulate closures, cancelled appointments– I started scanning photos to alleviate worry. This massive project I had put off for twenty years took shape in the cloud and in archival page protectors placed in organized photo albums, while we packed for Spain.

In the meantime, Steve contacted moving companies and storage units, and got quotes for moving our sentimental items, and the few pieces of furniture our son and daughter-in-law wanted to use in their first home. Steve carried heavy book boxes and bins down four flights of stairs to the garage without complaint. Daily he monitored and tried to contact the Spanish Embassy and Consulate to get an appointment to secure visas for Spain. 

Steve began corresponding with a consular officer, even though the embassy was closed. Thankfully he had the foresight to get us fingerprinted and submitted the paperwork to confirm we had no criminal history pre virus shutdown. He had also made two trips to Main State get our documents Apostille’d. We had a hiccup with needing our marriage license Apostille’d by Sec State in Idaho, but a few phone calls later, and trips to the post office, it was in the mail to us before everything shut down. He got us an appointment at the Spanish consulate in D.C. the first day it opened in May and arranged to have our visas overnighted to us in Texas while we visited family. If all that wasn’t enough, he prepped for his procedures and waited for health results with grace. By May 20th when the moving truck pulled up, it was confirmed he was cancer free. 

When the moving van left, we cleaned our townhome and in 90 degree humid heat Steve loaded the Jeep with suitcases, a freestanding globe, my Kitchen-Aid, rugs and a marble column we were taking to our daughter in UT. He couldn’t see out the rear view mirror and barely had enough elbow room to drive but we set off for a 4,500 mile journey from VA to FL, LA to TX, OK to CO and UT to ID in order to say goodbye to family. 

All through the move, we looked online at furnished apartments using Fotocasa and Idealista.com. We found several apartments with terraces that we liked, but the updated and newly renovated units with outdoor terrazzas seemed to go off the market quickly. Not deterred, we figured there would still be great apartments that local real estate agents knew about when we arrived in Spain.

Despite all this forward momentum of the previous months, the wind suddenly left our sails and things started to stall out. We visited family in Destin FL and Lake Charles LA, and thought our passports with the visa inside would meet us in San Antonio. Five weeks later though, our visas still weren’t approved yet. On top of it all, Steve could not get ahold of the moving company in Baltimore. They told us they would only hold our boxes for 4 weeks. We were at the four week mark, and they weren’t returning any emails or phone calls. We were backed into a corner with no home or belongings and no way to move forward.

We have seen a pattern our whole married life. At the very last second, when our imminent destruction is upon us, that is when the miracles happen. The moving van suddenly called, and they were en route to our storage unit. We threw suitcases back in the Jeep and drove to Dallas to meet them at a climate controlled unit. In was pouring when we pulled up and our boxes were getting drenched from the deluge and a piece furniture was damaged but all in all we felt relief to be moving forward again. While we were leaving the storage unit, we got a call from the Spanish consulate. The consular officer shared the good news that our visas were finally approved! However, the catch was we would only be allowed into Spain on a direct flight from the US. The plane could not touch down in any other European country due to EU travel bans against Americans. With many airlines no longer flying from the US to Europe, this was our next barrier to get over. 

After hours of searching, Steve found one direct flight with American Airlines from SLC to Dallas to Madrid on July 7. With the increase of corona virus cases and EU travel restrictions flooding the news, our families started emailing us about a plan B– staying in the US. We talked about this contingency plan but we still felt we should press forward. After a couple days Steve got ahold of the Spanish consulate, and they confirmed that with the retirement visa and our direct flight, that we could still fly to Spain.

At the SLC airport, the American Airlines employee behind the counter shook his head when we checked in for Spain. He wished us luck but said “don’t be surprised if they send you back.” We wore masks for over 24 hours straight with the flight to Dallas, to the nine hour flight across the Atlantic to Madrid and then during the ten hour layover and flight to Valencia. We felt a bit lightheaded from the exertion, stress, time change and lack of sleep but euphoria was the overriding emotion. The plane passengers consisted of Spaniards who had been stranded in the U.S.. Three hours in Steve stretched out across three seats and got some rest. I watched Ford vs Ferrari for the third time and told myself only those who dream big get the pay off. 

At passport control in Madrid, we wondered if the gig was up. I held my breath as the Immigration Officer looked confused when I handed him my US passport. He flipped through a few pages and then looked at me quizzically as he didn’t see the visa. I said: “there is a visa in a few more pages.” He flipped through a few more pages and saw the retirement visa. He looked at it closely, looked at me, back at the visa and…. then nodded and stamped my passport. Huge exhalation. Health Officials met us and took our temperatures and looked over our health forms. The nurses stepped back after confirming we didn’t have a fever, and we were granted entrance to Spain. We took our first real breaths and smiled. We did it!

There were so many moving parts and barriers to prevent our progress. A mix of stubbornness and stamina in the DNA kept us going but more than anything we know that heaven moved earth so we could relocate to Spain. The amount of blessing showered on us has felt monumental and our gratitude is immense. Our friends, family, children and coworkers cheered us on, and we are thankful to the core for their love. President Reagan had it right, there are “there are no barriers to our progress” if we keep moving forward. 

Torres de Serranos- the gate to Valencia. Te vemos en Espana. Get your visa and we will see you in Spain!