We’ve been super busy over the last few weeks designing some amazing trips for clients and planning our own summer road trip along the coasts of Spain and Portugal. The fact that we can hop in the car and drive to the Douro Valley to sip port is still 100% mind blowing. Moments like these, along with our second Spanniversary last month, naturally result in some reflection. So, to kick off year #3 in Spain, we’ve come up with our second list of things we love and things we miss. (See Year 1, Part 1 here). 

​It’s been two years since we got off the plane, lugged our three giant suitcases to the curb of Valencia’s little airport and butchered the pronunciation of our AirBnB address to the cab driver. Two years since we searched for part time jobs, only to land a 4-week gig at an English summer camp earning less money than we did when we were 16, and yearning for the security that came with the salaries we left behind. Two years since we searched for an apartment and had three legitimately fall through before emptying our savings account to pay the entire year’s rent up-front because we didn’t have a Spanish job contract. Two years since we walked through the park every day making up songs to memorize basic Spanish verb conjugations in present tense, only to freeze in terror the moment someone spoke to us. And two years since we relished in the everyday excitement of life abroad - fully embracing the Spanish siesta, afternoons at the beach, warm late nights spent on streetside patios, and the beautiful and unapologetic focus on family and time together over money, status and things.

It's 2018, and we’re reflecting on the best parts of last year as we adjusted to our life as expats in Spain and explored new travel destinations throughout Europe. 
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In 2017 we finally started to get the hang of life in Spain and are wrapping up the year feeling more at home in Valencia than ever before. Afterall, in the last year we…

Happy Spanniversary to us! We’ve officially survived year number one of expat life (undoubtedly the hardest one, right? Wait, right!?). In some ways it’s hard to believe– we’re just now starting to feel more settled, more secure and more at home. But in other ways, so much has happened over the past twelve months. ​

Oh hey. It’s been awhile. The past two months have been a whirlwind of long weekends, exploration, visitors, Spanish classes and, well, “real” life in Spain. We’ve both been working 25-32 hours and taking 4 hours of Spanish each week. Taking advantage of Spain’s generous holiday calendar (five paid holidays over the last two months), we’ve managed to squeeze in two trips to Barcelona and long weekends in both Ibiza and Scotland. Although we very consciously manage our budget and time to include travel, we're still pinching ourselves that we've been "weekending" in these types of places. ​

​It was mid April. We were cruising along an uninspiring stretch of the I-5, on our way home from an impromptu trip to Santa Barbara and Palm Springs where we escaped for sun, wine, and as it turns out, a surprise marriage proposal. As official new “fiances,” we were doing what most couples do: talking about our life together (which included a move to Spain four weeks later), and, naturally, a wedding. As firm believers in the importance of experiences over things, there was never a question that we wanted to gather our family and friends together for a kickass party. It was just a matter of where, when, and how it would all come together. Below are the details of how we pulled off our wedding (and the most amazing week of our lives)  in a 17th century Italian villa.

​We’ve packed away our three giant suitcases, made two agonizing trips to IKEA, purchased the wrong size sheets for our bigger-than-a-full-but-smaller-than-a-queen mattress, and successfully planted a mini herb garden. Just now, about a month after moving in, we’re starting to realize (holy s$*#!), we actually live here. Like, we have refrigerator magnets and own furniture and pay electricity bills and everything. This is happening. 

It’s no wonder it has taken so long for this obvious fact to settle in. We moved into our new apartment right before the beginning of August, the mother of all Spain shutdowns. Move over siesta, step aside, Sundays. For four weeks each summer, Spaniards (and many other European nationalities) shut down their businesses, close up their apartments, and go on vacation. 

​What does this mean for all the newbie expats who didn’t get the memo and can’t afford to vacation for a month at a time? It means everything is closed. Even more so than the regular Spanish everything-is-closed schedule. All of those things we’ve been putting off until our summer work was finished and we were settled in the new apartment… closed. Even the swimming pool is closed for the month. Of August. Go figure. 

And the good ‘ol lack of efficiency is brought to a new level. Nothing can be accomplished in August. Government buildings and post offices have “summer hours,” meaning they leave early for siesta and just don’t come back. We have tried to go out to a few restaurants that we’ve been meaning to try, only to be faced with a “closed for August” sign. Our refrigerator is running at sub-arctic temperatures and our landlord told us it can be fixed in September. Evidently this is par for the course.

So, here we are. The people who haven’t had a normal life - home, routine, etc. - in over a year, in somewhat of a forced vacation scenario. We’ve taken our 5-day vacation to the Costa Del Sol (a perfectly reasonable vacation length by American standards) and have returned home ready to get our daily life on. For the past three weeks, we’ve been somewhat successful at setting our own routine: working from cafes, running in the park (no laps in the pool, it’s closed), squeezing in a little beachtime, planning our upcoming wedding, and cooking at home. We can’t lie, the August shutdown forces us to relax and not feel obligated to figure out how to go to the dentist, schedule residency meetings, and attend Spanish class. But we’re also hyper aware that all of these things will need to happen, all at once, in about one week. Then there’s a slight chance that we may go from laid back to a frazzled all at once. 

Now that it’s the last week of August, the city is starting to wake up. The park is full of landscapers, workers wading in the fountains cleaning out the August beer bottles, and teams wearing orange vests painting bridges. It’s very much like those last few days of summer before school starts when you’re a kid. We think we want it to happen, but we’re not entirely sure.  

​Moving to a new country halfway across the world is anything but boring. We’re constantly discovering new things, many of which we love and others that, well, maybe we don’t love so much. Being so far from home sparks some intense reflection and often, a good deal of nostalgia over seemingly insignificant parts of our former lives. Today we’re reflecting on our new home; what we love, what we like, and what we’re still getting accustomed to. We’re also reminiscing on the small things we miss. 

We LOVE the sunshine that radiates over Valencia on a daily basis. If the weather along the Valencian Coast, nestled against the Balearic Sea, isn’t perfect, we’re really not sure what is. 

We MISS our personal space. Maybe it’s a product of growing up in the new world, where freeways connect us to our jobs, homes, friends, parks, stores, and pretty much everything, but we do occasionally yearn for those few inches of oxygen which separate us from our closest neighbor. But since the personal bubble, in any form, doesn’t seem to exist in Spain, or most of Europe for that matter, we’ll just have to adjust. But people, please remember… showers and deodorant are both beautiful things that god/motherearth/scientologyaliens truly wanted us to use.

We LOVE Spanish wine. Yes, Ryan is from Sonoma, the epicenter of great California wine. But there’s something different about Spanish wines. Maybe it’s the 2 euro price tag that accompanies bottles from 2014 and 2009, either of which can stand up to any $12 California bottle. Maybe it’s because the Spanish chill red wines so that they can be drunk comfortably at a corner cafe in the 90 degree heat. Or maybe it’s because they seem to lack pretension. Wine is drunk by all in Spain. Out of short, regularly-sized glasses instead of fish bowls perched atop an 18 inch stem. Whatever it is, we like it. Check that, we LOVE it.

​We MISS communicating and having things make sense. Sure, we’re learning Spanish. Sure, a few Valencianos speak English. But the reality is the far majority don’t and our Spanish still isn’t good enough for a long, thoughtful conversation. There’s an ease that comes with understanding how things work, what people are saying, and what to expect. In Spain, and much of Europe, that ease is missing. And in its place is the slightest level of anxiety, created by the difficulty in doing just about anything. To be fair, this anxiety too is disappearing over time. Until it’s gone completely though, we’ll miss communication.

We LOVE the relaxed lifestyle of Spain. The “no pasa nada” life is real here. Nothing really happens, or matters, too much. Don’t be worried, or stressed, or concerned, the Spanish might say. It’s a goal of ours to become more relaxed, have fun, and find the many pleasures in the small things the way the Spanish (and Italians, Portuguese, French, etc., etc.) do. Until we get to that point, we will continue to have a...

​LOVE/HATE relationship with siestas and the Sunday shutdown. Sure, both are incredible ideas in theory. But when you’re a product of American society and want to go shopping on a Sunday, get a haircut in the afternoon, or do just about anything between the hours of 2pm and 5pm, it gets a little frustrating. But is it really that important to get those things done right then? Probably not. The Spanish certainly don’t think so. They’ll tell you to try in the afternoon, which we’re quite certain they consider to be the period of time between 6pm and midnight.

We MISS Mac ‘N Cheese. And if you don’t understand, try living somewhere without easy access to Mac ‘N Cheese. You’ll get it.

We LOVE olives. Holy moly, olives are f*cking incredible in Spain. We even eat the kind with pits now, because *gasp* they’re better that way. If we weren’t positive they are part of the formula for a long, happy, and healthy life, we might worry that we’re eating too many. But no, that’s actually not possible.

We MISS having options. America is the land of options and we can’t lie, we love the option of having so many options. Valencia has Spanish food, a bit of Italian food, some sushi, and most of the things you find in the U.S. and the stores have plenty of food items, so we really don’t want to complain. But coming from the states, where every grocery store presents you with 17 different types of mustard, 22 different varieties of craft beer, and an aisle dedicated to every ethnic group that ever set foot in the U.S.A., Spain can feel a bit limited. But still, we’re trying hard not to complain. So the next time we go to the store, or out to eat, we’ll keep the great words of Aziz Ansari close in mind and remember that “All of my options, are still options.”

​We LOVE eating tapas outside. Again, eating outside is something the near perfect Valencian weather affords us and we simply cannot get enough. Olives or potato chips come with every drink and delicious Spanish tapas are cheap and tasty. Having this experience on the patio of a restaurant in a 500 year old plaza just makes it that much sweeter.

We LOVE the fun, vibrant and generally friendly, people.

We MISS the guarantee of a quiet night’s sleep. Having drunk people (Spaniards and tourists alike) turn our tiny downstairs street corner into a late night gathering place seems to be an all too often occurrence. We’ve practiced saying “go home” and “be quiet” in Spanish and have fantasies of pouring a bucket of water out the window disguised as some late night plant watering. We’ll see how this unfolds over time.

We MISS efficiency. In any form. Like, seriously Spain. Do you even know what efficiency is?​

​We LOVE how inexpensive Spain is. Dollar for dollar. Ahem, Euro for Euro, there cannot be a better formula for location and quality of life for so cheap. We’ll talk more about this later, but everything from rent, to groceries, to dinner and drinks, to travel, is extremely cost effective here. It’s truly the reason we’ve been able to start our own business and focus our time on the things we love most.

​Okay, that’s it… for now. We’ll surely have more to share soon and fully expect some of those “Miss” items to go away and find plenty of new things we “Love” as we venture through this adjustment period. 

​​Open Google Maps, type in “Valencia, Spain" and zoom in to the little red marker in the center of the city. If you move up and to the left, slightly, you may see Torres de Quart, The Central Market of Valencia or the Catedral de Valencia. Well, that’s us, right smack in the middle of these historic landmarks. In the middle of Centro Historico, on the southern edge of El Carmen, one of the oldest, and liveliest (as we’ve come to find) areas of the city. Yep, this is our new home.

After two months desperately navigating Spanish rental websites, pushing through a dazzling array of Mediterranean bureaucracy, staying in four different AirBnB’s, having three surefire opportunities disappear out of thin air, and a negotiation process which consisted of a 3 hour Spanglish back and forth over beer and espresso, we FINALLY found a home. For the first time in almost a year and a half, we have a place to live that’s ours. And with a flat in the middle of a 2,100 year old city in Spain, comes some unique situations.

Built in 1840, the building we’ve just recently moved into is almost as old as the country we recently left. Our new street, Calle Rey Don Jaime, runs perpendicular to Calle de la Conquista. Both are short, narrow and seemingly insignificant. But as we’ve learned, these street names are anything but. Rey Don Jaime (translation: King James) conquered (hence, Calle de la Conquista) the Moors in the early 13th century, officially creating the Kingdom of Valencia (so, basically, there’s some history here).

We enter our new (old) building through 15 foot doors, walk past the Porteria, past a pulley-operated basket for transporting heavy groceries to the third floor, and up tiled stairs which are as Spanish as any we’ve seen since our arrival. The apartment itself is an experiment of old, new, weird, and purely awesome. There are wood beams throughout the living room and hallway, terra cotta tiled floors, 8 foot glass doors in the foyer that open into the inside of the building, and a kitchen which looks onto a small terrace and ancient walled-in monastery garden. The washing machine is in the kitchen, which has no oven (we bought a giant table top - sobre mesa - toaster oven). And yes, the bathroom does have a bidet, which we weren't entirely sure what to do with for the first 10 days. We get it now. 

I never, in a million years, thought I would be buying a wedding dress in Spain. That being said, just a few years ago, I never thought I would be this happy, this in love, and this inspired. So here, standing on a little black box in the middle of a pink marble dressing room, wearing 15 pounds of white silk and a 5 foot diameter skirt, it’s impossible not to smile and reflect on how incredible life can be.

I’m also smiling because I look ridiculous. It’s a very similar style to the little girls we’ve seen dressed in white, poofy communion dresses, waddling behind their moms on the way to church on Sunday. Read: an oversized cupcake. With puffy princess sleeves and a floor-length veil. But, having no way to communicate rather than miming “something tighter” (not the easiest charades move), I try on three similar giant dresses, each one slightly more hilarious than the last. 

Let’s just say the experience of buying a wedding dress in Espana has been… interesting. After making an appointment through email (with the help of Google translate), I’m greeted by two women in their 60’s - one stout and round with a tall bun of brown hair; the other with bright orange curls and pink lipstick that goes well beyond her lips. They sit me in front of a book of dresses that I awkwardly thumb through, before getting fed up and saying very loudly “cuánto dinero tiene usted.” I’m in the process of (slowly) learning Spanish, but after traveling through Latin America, I’m quite familiar with the words “cuanto” and “dinero.” I write my budget on a paper and, with a shrug say “mas o menos,” “more or less,” one of my favorite Spanish expressions. Their reaction is clearly not positive. Evidently these giant cupcake dresses cost serious coin. 

After two minutes of loud banter (assuming about my sub-par budget) the two disappear and come back with four dresses. I’m steered into the pink marble dressing room, which has mirrors on all four sides, and handed a pair of scary tall (5 inch +) sparkly shoes and a floor-length half slip with three tiers of lace. I put on the slip and wait for the first dress, feeling like I could fall out of the tall shoes and off the black box at any minute. Both women come in, and one motions for me to bend my knees and put my hands above my head. Feeling like I’m acting out a summer camp song wearing nothing but a bra and lace floor-length slip, I mirror her and stretch my arms up. A minute later, I’m miraculously dressed. It’s impressive -  one women slips the dress over my head, the other reaches under the skirt and tugs down the layers of silk. The first pulls at the back and pins the straps and the other pulls my hair, twists it into a bun, and sticks a veil on top. Assuming this is simply how it’s done here, I decide to let go and submit to the two Spanish shopkeepers manhandling me through three more dresses. After each dress, I’m asked “esta, o otra esta?” and by the end, I have evidently chosen my wedding dress through a quick process of elimination. 

The final dress (which I don’t care for in the least) hangs outside as I get dressed. When I walk out, one of the women writes the price ($100 euro above my budget) on a business card, and places her hand on my back as she walks me toward the door. She literally opens the shop door, steps outside with me, and waves goodbye. The whole process takes less than half an hour. 

​Walking home, I can’t help but think about that TLC show, “Say Yes to the Dress.” I’m having fantasies of my girlfriends and sister sitting among gorgeous white gowns, sipping champagne and gabbing in English as the friendly shop owner chooses dresses that are actually my style. But, like everything right now, this is a new (and somewhat hilarious) experience that I’m happy to have had. 

A few days later, I try again, visiting the store of well-known Spanish fashion designer, Rosa Clara. Some aspects are similar (my budget is too small, I put on the slip thingy and the towering rhinestone heels and am dressed by two women) but the overall experience is much more posh and friendly. The dresses are beautiful and, after two more shops and a few days of deliberation, I end up moving forward with a non-poofy dress that is absolutely stunning. Now, with four months before the wedding (yes, I (now) know this is late to buy a dress), I just need to find shoes with a shorter heel and less glitter. Should be easy enough… right?