Girl, Abroad (Cailín=girl=chica)

Here I am in Madrid.

I'd like to say a big hello to my mammy (Hi Mammy!) who I know is watching/ reading/ listening.

I have to be one of the most unprepared people in the world. I moved over to Spain last week with Jack, my boyfriend (who went back home last night- I've just about stopped whinging). When we arrived, I booked us into the lovely Hostal Jemasaca for three nights. Why three nights you ask? Because I was sure that I would have somewhere to live by then!

Sure we mightn't even need the third night, says I!

About an hour before we headed to the airport, daddy pointed out that the maximum weight allowed with AerLingus (20 kilos) was per passenger, not per bag. Damn. I had managed to reduce my years of hoarding to fit into two 20 kilo bags (and a massive piece of hand luggage.) Back online I went and had to pay for ANOTHER suitcase- this time in Jack's name since he travels like a normal person and only needs one piece of hand luggage- this I will never understand. 

*Insert montage here: packing- driving- airport- crying- crying- goodbyeing- crying- crying- sleeping- flying- clouds- sleeping- metroing- getting lost- taxiing- hosteling- sleeping*

That evening we headed for a bite to eat. Although I'm fairly confident with the Spanish language, I had never accounted for the menus. I couldn't understand a word they said. In the end we managed to find something. It was awful. Bleh. If you don't like your food to look at you while you're eating it, then don't order fish in Spain. 

The next few days were spent wandering and desperately seeking an apartment for myself and Yasmin close enough to the college that we weren't over an hour away. Sounds relatively. It wasn't. 

The first apartment that we went to see was advertised as a 2 bed apartment for €700 a month. The man that I rang had a speech impediment and I had a hard time understanding him. In the end I had to ask the reception-lady in the hostel to ring him and ask for directions. He told her that he was doubtful about renting to me because I didn't understand any Spanish. The reception-lady had a big argument with him saying that I had been talking to her in Spanish everyday and that she could understand me perfectly. The man with the speech impediment was a bit of an auld confidence beater. 

We turned up to the apartment (which was awful- I didn't think damp existed in Spain in August) and he showed us around. I noticed that there were 4 bedrooms and asked if his price was right at €700. At this point he proceeded to repeatedly shout "MIL! MIL! MIL!" (which means a thousand). When I asked him why he had advertised it as a 2 bedroom apartment for €700 instead of a 4 bedroom apartment for €1700, his reply was that the advert had brought me to the apartment. 

Freaky man.

That evening we went to see another apartment- it was perfect. I told the woman that we'd take it and went to hand her a wad of cash. She told me that once all of the papers were in order that it was ours. 

D'oh.

Damn Spanish papers. She insisted on seeing my Informe de Vida Laboral. When I told her that we didn't have such a thing in Ireland, she refused to rent to us! I had the money, I had proof that we could afford the apartment, I had everything that we needed- except this bloody piece of paper. 

We went to see another apartment the next day- same story. I rang the Irish embassy and eventually got through to someone (they love their siestas as much as the Spaniards). She was the most useless person that I have ever spoken to in my life. When I explained my situation, her only advice was to try another apartment. It was lovely to speak to someone with an Irish accent though! 

Eventually, myself and Yas decided to rent individual rooms instead of an apartment- this was on day 5 (after we had been moved from our lovely room in the hostel to the 'Standard' room- apparently the standard room doesn't include a pillow...) 

After seeing more kips, we eventually found our little home. The minute we saw it, we knew this was it. Not only am I renting a room in an awesome apartment, I'm also renting little grandparents who hug me and bring me presents everytime that they come to the apartment. 

Best landlords ever. 

I mean seriously, they called yesterday when we were out to show someone the extra room, and they had bought us new cups and saucers because I had told them that we loved tea. 

Speaking of tea, can anyone post me some Barry's? I'm gagging for a daycent cuppa scald. 

And some rashers and sausages. Nom nom.