My Hot Mess Move to Spain: What It’s Really Like to Start Over Alone

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Moving to Spain solo is no small undertaking. But the parts that I thought would be stressful, weren’t. And the parts I thought would be easy, were difficult. So I was basically a hot mess from start to finish. Here’s what it’s like to move abroad alone.

I would like to preface this entire blog post by saying that there is rarely if ever anything about immigration that goes smoothly. I knew this going into it because my mother and grandmother who raised me were both immigrants. I also have many friends who are immigrants. The process itself can be a nightmare. But what people tend to not talk a lot about, are the other things surrounding your immigration that can go sideways. This story is 100% based on those things.

Starting over in Spain was no joke. But I have to say that, the actual immigration legal process was a breeze. I know. Bear with me a minute…

I hired an immigration firm that came highly recommended by a Spanish blogger I followed and admired. This person couldn’t say enough good things about these attorneys, so I felt pretty confident about moving forward with them. It didn’t hurt that they seemed to be charging reasonable prices either.

Flashback – Getting Ready To Leave

I’m going to skip the entire portion of this story that involved first driving my son across the country from Maine to California, with our critters in a uHaul, so he could move in with his grandparents and father. That is an adventure all it’s own.

I will also skip talking about the process of selling my house, which was definitely added stress, but nothing noteworthy enough to share here. We all know that can be stressful. No need for a recap.

Nonetheless, the stress of both those things (and empty nest sadness) was part of this overall story and were definite undertones for the anxiety I was beginning to feel.

My Move To Spain

Getting ready to leave for Spain was a process unlike any other. After all the moving around my son and I had done over the years, it was nice to simply be selling and donating things instead of packing them into boxes. That part of the move was amazing, actually. It felt quite freeing.

The real stress began the day before I was meant to leave. It’s 1000% my fault, but I had been confused by the information on the airline website. So I thought I finally understood the packing requirements, and I panicked because I had to totally repack all of my suitcases, which I had just purchased, by the way. Brand new! (This will be a detail of note later in my story).

So I spent the majority of the day and night trying to figure out my luggage. I have never weighed luggage so many times in all my life. In an exhausted and last-minute attempt to reduce more weight, I flung a bunch of stuff I dearly wanted into the donation pile that I would be dropping off on my way to the airport hotel in Boston. I was sad to let them go, but I was willing to do what I had to do to get on that plane.

I had given up all hope of the shipping company actually helping me. Their response time was abysmal, but it was too late to change plans now.

After an emergency call with my therapist to try and calm myself down, I finally gave up and let go. However, in my panic to not let my carry-on be too heavy, I had put a folder of very important documents into one of these larger suitcases. (I know.) Not thinking anything more of it, I proceeded to head from Augusta, Maine to Boston, Mass. early that next morning.

Before I left, I had received an automated email from the shipping company specifying how to pack the suitcases for this type of shipping. All I can say was, I was not prepared.

Anxiety is a very real and prominent component in my life and this packing situation really put me over the edge. But, determined not to let anything get in the way of me and my new destination, I decided I would find an office supply store on the way to Boston and wrap everything properly at the hotel. Thankfully, there was just such a store down the street where I could copy all the needed labels and purchase all the packing tape I could carry.

I headed to the lobby of the hotel and spent the next several hours packing suitcases, labeling them with labels inserted into plastic protectors, and then wrapping the suitcases almost entirely in packing tape until they could have easily slid across the hotel lobby without their wheels.

I was exhausted, but proud of myself for finishing that little art project in time for the van to pick everything up. Finally they arrived and my suitcases were underway. That very next morning, I sold my truck at CarMax and grabbed an Uber straight to the airport. That part of my journey was done. But things were just about to get interesting.

It’s worth noting here that the shipping labels were addressed from the lobby of my Boston hotel to the lobby of my Madrid hotel. More on that in a bit…

The Airport

While the airport isn’t a large part of this story, it’s worth mentioning that when you move to another country, the airline you take doesn’t care what your visa status is or will be. They just want to know that you have plans/tickets to exit their country. So I had quite the surprise when I got through a very long line of people, presented all my hard-earned paperwork to the staunch, Spanish woman before me, only to have her throw the paperwork back across the counter and tell me I can’t enter Spain without a ticket to come back.

In my panic, I assumed it had to be a ticket back to the US. All I saw in my head was a plane ticket that I would have to buy for hundreds of dollars that I had no intention of using any time soon. It took me a few moments to think clearly enough to realize that it could be a ticket to anywhere. No airline could insist that I had to go back home. I could travel the world if I wished. So in great haste, I purchased a ticket from Spain to Albania for $40 and got back in line. It worked!

The “interesting” part of my time at the airport was when I went to check the one suitcase I was bringing on the plane, and was told that it was super light and I would not owe any extra fees for extra weight. Confused, I left the counter because I had truly thought I had over-packed that one suitcase.

I would find out later that the scale I used to weigh my luggage was set to the wrong type of weight. So all that panic I had felt at home and all that extra packing and repacking and stressing I had done was for nothing. While some people would find relief in this, it only fueled more of my frustration and anxiety, plus sadness at the items I had left behind at the last minute.

Arriving In Madrid

If you follow me on Facebook at all, you might already know that my arrival in Madrid did not make life any less stressful.

I arrived at 5am, got my luggage, and grabbed a cab with an incredibly grumpy old cab driver to the hotel. Imagine my surprise when I realized that my “hotel” was a hostel inside a larger apartment-style building. There was no reception to receive my luggage.

After the woman who helped check me in via text message talked me through how to enter a Spanish building (much harder than you would think for an American. Locks, knobs, light switches, pass codes… all very different and foreign in a different country. This poor woman must have thought I was an absolute idiot for not being able to open a door. But you don’t realize how different all those little things are until you travel.), I finally got to my room which was nice, but about the size of a shoe box and sweltering hot.

But I didn’t have time to even try to manage any of the anxiety that was slowly taking over my body. I had a 9am vet appointment to attend to get Izzy all her proper paperwork and pet passport. Thankfully, I thought on my feet enough to remember to put all of her paperwork in my carry on instead of in the bigger suitcase I had shipped.

The vet appointment went really well. The vet was a wonderful woman who was incredibly understanding of the stress we were under and did everything she could to help me and Izzy. I can not thank her enough. Her name is Olga, and if you ever need a vet in Madrid, let me know. I’ll put you in touch!

But little did I know that the required medications she had to have to get her passport, would be overtaxing on her tiny little 4 pound (1.8 kg) body, and she ended up have the worst case of diarrhea I’ve ever seen. Pure liquid. And at some point, even a little blood, which prompted a new vet visit when we arrived in El Campello. But that story will come in a bit.

I returned to the hostel room which was just large enough for the small, twin bed, a nightstand, shelf, and my two unopened suitcases. I cannot stress enough how tiny and hot this room was, and after the stress I had been through to get there and realizing that there could be an issue with receiving my luggage, I broke down and cried myself to sleep with Izzy (my dog) exhausted and tucked under the blankets in protest. I will never understand how she stayed under the blanket in that hot room.

But our nap was short lived, because the adventure of her having to go to the bathroom every 30 minutes was about to begin and stay with us around the clock for the next two days.

My Second Day In Spain

Airport security had made me throw away ALL my dog food. So I had given Izzy some bread and few bits of this and that to tide her over until I could find pet food that day. My quest for dog food was my first refresher in how much Europeans walk. I lived in Germany when I was 18, but I do not recall so much walking! Maybe I was just young and in better shape at the time because, as an out-of-shape American with a rather sedentary job, I was not prepared for the monumental life quest I would have to undergo to find a few cans of dog food.

I finally found a pet store on what felt like the other side of the city (It wasn’t, it was a 30 minute walk. I was maybe a few blocks away from the hostel). I had no shopping bags with me, and no idea what the Spanish word for “bags” was in order to ask for one, so I grabbed what pet food I could carry for that distance and headed back to the hotel. It was not enough dog food to tide us over, but it was something and I was not thinking clearly at this point. In fact, I was focusing very hard on not having an actual panic attack right there on the streets of Madrid.

To say we spent a lot of time in that tiny hostel room instead of exploring Madrid is an understatement. To this day, I have zero desire to see Madrid, despite the urging of the vet and the lady that ran the hostel that I should see certain things while I was there.

Going from very quite Maine to the city of Madrid was such massive sensory overload, that it killed any desire I had to see the city. I did manage to get out, but every time I walked out the door, I stepped into a wall of people. They say New York is the city that never sleeps, but I would argue that Madrid has an even worse insomnia problem. Being up around the clock with Izzy every time she had to go to the bathroom meant that I saw Madrid at all hours of the day and night, and I can tell you that Madrid truly never sleeps.

Madrid And Dogs

Another problem I had in Madrid was realizing that grocery stores here do not allow animals in the store unless they are service animals. Some of you may think that should be common sense, but let me explain.

Madrid and Spain in general seem to be quite dog-friendly. Restaurants welcome dogs, as do other businesses. But I found out fast and hard that they don’t allow dogs in grocery stores. This was strange to me for two reasons. First, I know Europe to be quite dog-friendly and had seen lots of videos (of other countries) where dogs went into grocery stores. I assumed Spain was the same. I was wrong. Second, dogs are allowed literally almost everywhere else (except many beaches). I even took Izzy into the hairdressers with me when I got my hair done weeks later.

Here, dogs are allowed in bakeries, cafe’s, salons, and so many other places. Places where food is unwrapped and out in the open. Places where, if a shedding dog were to shake, a light breeze could easily carry the fur over onto the unprotected food. But in a grocery store, where everything is packaged and covered, not a chance. Hopefully you see the confusion there. But I learned.

Unfortunately, I also could not leave Izzy alone in the hostel room. First, it was against the rules. And second, I’m convinced she would have died of heat exhaustion. So you see my dilemma. No real access to dog food unless I made the hike to the pet store.

I later discovered a pet store much closer, thankfully, and the guy working there even spoke English, which was the first time I had felt any relief since arriving. I sorely underestimated the stress of not being understood or being able to understand people here. Again, 1000% my fault. But my reasoning was that the Spanish spoke in different regions can vary quite a bit. So until I figured out where I would be living, I didn’t see the point in trying to learn before I got here.

“BIG mistake. Huge.” (A Pretty Woman movie reference, if you didn’t get that…)

Madrid To Alicante

Finally, it was time to leave the sensory overload and I could not have packed up fast enough to get to the train.

If you recall, my luggage was supposed to arrive at the hostel. It, in fact, did not. I asked the woman who ran the place if she would be willing to accept the luggage and let me come back from Alicante to pick it up. She was very nice and promised she would…. IF she was there when it arrived. And thus, the saga of my luggage truly began.

As I mentioned in another post, my luggage got to see more of Europe than I ever have. This is the 3 week European tour that my luggage enjoyed:

Boston —> New York —> Cincinnati —> New York —> Brussels —> Leipzig —> Brussels —> Leipsig —> Madrid —> Leipsig —> Madrid —> Leipsig —> Brussels —> Barcelona —> Madrid —> Leipsig —> Alicante —> Vitoria —> Alicante —> Vitoria —> Alicante.

But we’ll get to the luggage later. All I knew was that I would have to take that very long train ride back to a place I didn’t want to be, which was only building on the growing panic attack I was working so hard not to have. But I got on the train to Alicante, determined that this setback was not going to get in my way of getting to my quiet refuge by the sea. Ha!

Alicante, Spain

As confusing as it was to figure out the train station without understanding what people were trying to tell me, I somehow managed to arrive in Alicante. At the train station, I managed to find the one person who actually spoke English inside a tourist office.

Bless this young girl, she was my angel in a moment of high stress. She gave me directions from the train to the tram and I was on my way. I walked out the door of the station, ready to leave the crowds behind, only to walk out into crowds that were very much the same as they were in Madrid.

My anxiety picked up a bit more, but I knew if I didn’t take a moment for myself, things were not going to proceed smoothly. So I found this gigantic tree just outside the station and sat on the low brick wall that surrounded it and let Izzy do what she needed to do. The poor girl was still having so much trouble and I knew I needed to find a vet for her soon.

The vet from Madrid was kind enough to track down another vet in El Campello (my final destination) and make an appointment for me. So we were on a time clock and I had no idea how long it would take me to get there. So I put on my big girl pants, took a deep breath, and Izzy and I started walking to the tram station.

The trip from the train station to the tram station is very direct and easy. It’s literally down the street, no turns, and there’s a big statue over the underground tram station, so the location is hard to miss. I was overly grateful for the simplicity of finding the place, and made my way underground down a long flight of stairs. Not easy with my suitcases and my dog, but definitely the smallest of my obstacles that day.

Thankfully, a tram station attendant took pity on my non-Spanish-speaking self and walked me through the process of buying a tram ticket. I tried to watch what she did so I could do it again myself if I had to, but when my anxiety is in full force, my brain goes a little fuzzy. So I did, in fact, not remember a single thing she did to get me that ticket out of that machine.

But I got myself, my two suitcases, and Izzy onto the tram which was too crowded to sit down in. So I stood the entire way, trying to figure out when to get off. At the time, I had no idea that there are two trains that travel that line. The L1, which is faster and makes fewer stops, and the L3, which is slower and makes more frequent stops. I’ll give you one guess which one I was on.

So an hour later, I stepped off the tram in El Campello and messaged my AirBnb host that I had arrived at the tram stop, only to have her respond and tell me I had gotten off at the wrong stop to reach her. I was stressed, but I was actually in the right place to get to the vet’s office. So I stopped for lunch where the waiter who didn’t speak English ended up ordering for me. Thankfully, he had good taste because the meatballs and a separate plate of tuna salad were delicious and somewhat stabilizing to my stressed out self.

After lunch, I walked a very long way to the vets office. At first I couldn’t find it, and by the time I did, I walked in with my hair flying wild in all directions, my makeup running down my face from the sweat, and the wheels on my suitcases rubbed and flattened by the uneven ground it had to cover to get there. I was a hot mess.

The vet walked in, took one look at me, and offered me some tissue to wipe my face, gently sat me down, and then got us into the exam room as fast as he cook. He spoke some English, so the exam went well and I was able to go to the Pharmacy across the street to get Izzy’s medications. He even kept her in the office for me (along with my luggage), so I could easily run across the street. Then, bless him, he called me a taxi which took me and Izzy the last stretch to our Airbnb where we both collapsed for the rest of the day and night.

Life in El Campello

I was in a beautiful Airbnb run by a woman who would become a very close friend with time. Her daughter as well. But I didn’t know that then. All I knew was that I was in an Airbnb that felt like it was miles away from a tram station and had hills to walk that I was sure were going to give me a stroke. So I didn’t necessarily get out all that often, and when I did, I needed the entire day afterward to recover. So I slowly got into a rhythm of going out every other day, and staying home to recover every other day. It was a little odd, but it worked, and I pretty quickly dropped 20 pounds, despite all my grumbling about climbing all those hill in the September heat.

Life Gets Easier When You Move To Spain

About 3 weeks after I arrived, my luggage decided it had had enough of it’s European escapade and finally showed up on the doorstep with plenty of damage, including big dents and broken wheels. But I didn’t care at that point. I was just glad that everything had arrived and that I had my important documents in my hands once more. Lesson learned on that one!

So from that point forward, life got a little easier. The weather started to cool down, I found another apartment to rent that turned out to be just down the hill and right over the local grocery store and restaurant. I also ended up with the most beautiful view from my balcony of the Mediterranean sea where I have photographed many sunrises. They take my breath away every time.

My Life Now

As I write this, It’s been 8 months and one day since I arrived in Spain. I’m slowly learning some basic vocabulary and simple sentences in Spanish, I have amazing friends that feel like family, I have a doctor, hair dresser, and vet for Izzy that all speak English, and I’m getting plenty of opportunity to speak German with the local Germans here, many of which, I’m fortunate enough to call close friends. I can navigate public transportation with a tiny bit of confidence, and I’m even considering getting a Spanish drivers license so I can buy a Vespa. (And yes, I’ll have a basket in front for Izzy. And yes, she will have goggles. Because that needs to happen)

So would I do it all again? Am I glad I came?

Abso-freaking-lutely! Life here is so different and so wonderful. The Spanish are a warm group of gregarious people that love to have a good time. I have a close-knit group of friends, and I love the area I’m in. I have non-stop amazing views, delicious food, and a slower pace of life that many Americans would envy. It is single-handedly the best gift I’ve ever given myself.

Do I miss anything from back home?

Of course I do. It would be weird if I didn’t. Obviously, I miss my kiddo tremendously. But he’s doing well and comes to visit for the summer. I miss San Francisco. I really did leave my heart there, or at least part of it. I miss the California coast, and I definitely miss the beauty of Maine and New England in general. But would I go back? No. For me, life is better here. Less stress, and just all around healthier.

There are definitely some things I’m still getting used to, and that just takes time. But I have a good enough foundation here now to sustain me, and while I don’t known if I’ll stay in Spain forever, I do know that I will never move back to the States.

So that’s it! That’s the whole stress-filled story of me coming to Spain. Hope you enjoyed it!