A Birthday Abroad

I did not sleep well last night.  You know all that philosophical junk that runs through your head when your birthday rolls around?  What have I done with my life so far?  Am I happy with what I am doing now?  What are my goals for the next year? 

Compound that with the doubts of someone who moved nearly 6,000 miles across the globe.  Will my friends forget me?  Will I be able to go with the (new) flow?  Or will I fight it and insist on old ways of doing things just because it’s more comfortable?  Will I find a hairdresser that I can communicate with?  Will I find an English-speaking vet?  Do I need to buy towels?  Can I get to the IKEA by Metro?

I knew the adjustment to a new culture, a new language, a new way of life would be a challenge.  But I had no idea how exhausting it would be—it’s like everything becomes a production.

This morning, Eddie woke up before me.  He took Maddy for her walk, and then stopped at Starbucks (sometimes you need easy).  He told the barista, “It’s my girlfriend’s birthday,” and then he attempted to ask for their best pastry.  Instead, he asked for their best cake, and came back with a slice of carrot cake and dense chocolate cake with marshmallows on top.

We enjoyed our celebration nonetheless, and afterward we set off to find the closest pet store.  First, we got a little lost.  Then, we found it.  But, it was closed…or rather, had moved down the street.  Ok, walk a little further.  Now we’re here!  Do they have what we need?  Another conversation Eddie has to have.  After 4-5 models, we come up with a bag that Maddy will fit in, to allow her onto the Metro.  Problem is we have to put her in butt first and then shove the rest of her in and zip it closed quickly (see the video here).  Next up, what food do they have?  And treats?

Purchases complete, we walk back to the hotel.  We eat lunch, hang for an hour or so, and then test out the Metro with our new bag.  It works!  But Maddy freaks!  She keeps scratching madly at the mesh siding.  I have the bag on the floor, between my feet, but other passengers stare as I keep putting my hand up to the side and reassuring her, “it’s ok, good girl!”  We reach our stop and, just like at the airport, she emerges with her tail high, and readily accepts a treat.  She may be more adaptable than Eddie and me.

We look at our final apartment and this is actually THE ONE.  It may be slightly smaller, lacking in old-world character (to the eye*), and isn’t right in the heart of the city, but it is half the distance to school and two blocks from a dog park, there is a Pharmacy and Fruit Store right around the corner, and there are about 10 bars within walking distance.  This is an area where we could build our own little community.

To prove we are right, the agent (who also happens to live in the building) takes us to the bar around the corner and introduces us to some regulars.  The owner isn’t in, which our agent tells us, “means he’s asleep downstairs.”

After some paperwork, and setting up a shuttle to transport our luggage, we head back to the hotel.  We grab some bocadillos (small sandwiches with Jamon on crunchy bread), a couple bottles of red wine, and settle in for the night.

Another day down in which we can feel accomplished.  Tomorrow’s to-dos include setting up a bank account, “moving in,” and celebrating my birthday at El Club Allard, a two-Michelin-star restaurant!

*On a side note, our landlord owns several apartments in the same building; additionally, his family used to own the two buildings next door, including one which his grandfather built himself.  With beautiful yellow edifices, balconies, and gargoyles, it looks like it belongs in Paris.  However, during the Spanish Civil War, the Communists took these other buildings for community property.  Finding it hard to see the fairness in that...