We’re on the move again this week.  Seem to have done this far too often in recent years, and you think we’d have learned a lot from this.  Well, I hope we have.  Here’s some stuff we have picked up, generally the hard way…

•  If people offer to help, nail them down instantly to times and places, before they melt away.
• Don’t place anything, ever, in a black plastic binbag, that is NOT rubbish destined for the bin.  Do not be tempted to put bedding, laundry etc into bags that make them look like they need helpfully chucking out, especially when multiple journeys/helpers are involved.
• You can’t have in your possession too much bubblewrap, tape, boxes or marker pens
• Levels of dirt acceptable in your own home / your own dirt, eg inside fridge trays or bathroom drawers, are ‘eurgghhh!’ when you are moving somewhere new and they are someone else’s dirt you must get rid of first
• Labelling any box ‘misc’ because you just shoved any old crap into it instead of sorting as you packed, is just going to backfire on you when you are cursing through the unpacking later
• Do not label anything with post-it notes, they do NOT stick well to boxes, and leads to chaos.  ‘Does anyone know what this “FRAGILE!!!” relates to..?’
• When packing up clothes and day to day stuff, think about pulling out and putting aside the stuff you need for the last few days before you move BEFORE you start.  Even pack yourself as suitcase as though you were off on holiday - then shove the case under the bed and you can pack up everything else in the room for the movers.
• Removal firm advice leaflets recommend keeping an ‘emergency on arrival’ box at hand with you at all times, but think carefully about exactly what you need in YOUR box, for those first 5 minutes after getting to your new home.  Whether its firelighters, a screwdriver, a corkscrew or your mobile charger, what can you not live without/wish to avoid searching for at that moment?
• If you really were going to eBay it you’d have done it by now.  Go to charity shop, go directly to charity shop, do not pass go and do not move clutter from one house to another
• Same with anything you were going to alter, mend or repair.  Let it go.
• Finally, if someone kindly brings you a bottle of something bubbly to welcome you to your new home, don’t think you’ll just pop it in the freezer to chill down for half an hour.  Unless you *want* to spend your first morning in your new place clearing moet-et-broken-glass icecream out of your new freezer that is.

Half term this week - for English schools at least - but what a contrast to our fond memories of this time last year, when with visitors from the UK we went for picnics in the mountains and walks on the beach, kids playing and paddling, parties in the park… Today it was a welcome change to sit outside and have a coffee, for a scant hour or two before the sun retreated and coats went back on.  It’s slightly milder, and it’s good to have had a little taste of springtime to come, but sadly it isnt truly here yet.

It was a very pleasant morning though, first face to face get-together for our latest project, http://www.oldschoolgate.com… this site/forum is basically an attempt to create exactly I was looking for 2 years ago, when researching our relocation.  It’s such a challenge planning a move for a whole family from over a thousand miles away, with scant precious visiting time to check things out.  How on earth did people manage before the internet..?  Between google earth, agents websites, and expat forums, I was able to use our reccy time as wisely as possible and find out as much as we could before taking the plunge, but I still felt a gap for specifically kids-related things.  It was hard to find out information about schooling, kids activities, fiestas etc, and how to go about basic things such as registering for health care or buying PE kit.  It was fantastic to find some incredibly knowledgeable and supportive friends who helped so much with such things, and I wanted to try and channel that knowledge and make it more accessible for others in the future.

Similarly now we’ve been here for over a year, we still find things we havent a clue about because we havent had to deal with them yet, and being in the international school system it’s harder still to hook up with other parents  - the catchment zones cover huge areas, and many children arrive by bus anyway.  The ‘Old School Gate’ is symbolic of the ultimate hob of gossip and news that has sustained generations of Mums around the world, the folk wisdom that gets passed on to those in need of it, ready to pay forward and help out the next person who asks for help.

If you, or anyone you know, has kids anywhere near the Costa Blanca… or if you’re researching or considering a move to the area - please check out http://www.oldschoolgate.com. We’re a new community of international, diverse, friendly and interesting parents, and we’d love to chat.  More meet-ups planned soon… as soon as the weather gets better anyway!

And if you’re not in the area but like the idea of an Old School Gate for your own community, give me a shout about that too.

A friend of a friend of ours has this thing of coming out with little sayings, one which stuck in my mind from way back was “Spain is a cold country, that happens to have hot sun”. 

At the time I didn’t really know what that meant, but now I do.  Most of the year Spain is warm and sunny, spring and autumn are sheer delight.  The hot summer you can survive, between the beach and the pool and not trying to do too much.  But the brief and brutal winter is HORRIBLE… in homes built to stay as cool as possible in summer heat, every icy breeze penetrates, and the lack of sun in our chilly north-facing villa adds to the frozen misery with damp and mould.  Between us we have never had more colds and respiratory infections, since moving to this ‘healthiest climate in the world’!

Our big mistake was viewing this beautiful villa in the early summer, when it was glorious, spacious and luxurious.  We paid no attention to the lack of radiators, curtains, interior doors, or even a woodburner… and we have spent the winter trying to heat the bits we are living in through a combination of inverting air conditioners (which produce astronomical electricity bills), and a calor gas heater which produces such damp the condensation runs down the windows, creating more black mildew and rot everywhere.  The girls rooms have little oil-filled radiators, that work OK in the smallest bedrooms (and in the office if you actually put your feet on them).  We have also become big fans of the good old hot water bottle!  Basically the strategy is focus on warming up the immediate area you are occupying, rather than the whole house or even room.  Lots of layers, hot drinks.  Warming soups…

So we are OFF.  In just two weeks, to a smaller, warmer place, with friendly helpful landlords, a proper long term lease, and that most wondrous of inventions… central heating!!!  Bring it on.

Apparently airport security staff, before they are kitted up with their new x-ray specs, are trained to look out for people who are anxious, sweaty, and distracted.  These people could be potential terrorists and bombers I guess…. however, they could also be passengers with the lovely Ryanair.  Wearing as much of their luggage as humanly possible, stressing about the threat of having their bags measured or god forbid weighed, wondering if the costcutting and profit squeezing is one day going to hit safety and fuelling margins, and fuming with resentment at the endless scratchcard and merchandise pushing.  Not to mention the self-congratulatory announcements about ‘yet another on-time flight’ just because they describe Alicante to London as taking 2 hrs 45 minutes when it always takes less than 2 hrs 20…

But before you even get to peel off the layers at security, you have to find the airport in the first place.  Of course we’ve done this a few times now and it’s getting easier, but it’s strange how one of the largest portals in Europe can be so invisible on approach.   It’s in a kind of dip in the landscape, and a lot of flight paths are over the sea, so you are practically on top of it before you notice the airport at all.  Driving from the North as we do, you go right past Alicante city to reach it, and there is sod-all signage, so you pass all signs to Alicante and see the city going by off on your left long before you see a sign saying ‘aeropuerto’ (which is also helpfully right next to the sign ‘Murcia’, which happens to be in the same direction, but also has an airport.  Not the one you are booked to fly from though, which adds to the fun).  Even when you’ve driven it many times its weird how there’s always this moment of doubt - have we missed the exit?  WTF has the airport gone this time?

All in all, I can only conclude, one should never leave the Costa Blanca at all, it’s way too stressful, and I am all for staying put.

It’s a bit ironic having moved to Spain in search of, amongst other things, a simpler life… to be so utterly dependent on the car these days.

The villa we live in currently - NOT for much longer, thank goodness - is very typical, in that it’s stuck up on a hill miles from anywhere, and you cannot get anywhere at all except by car.  Every time you realise you need bread or water or milk etc, you have to get the car out… and of course the school run, up the mountain to the beautiful new building, guzzles gallons of petrol every month.

The alternative is living in an apartment or townhouse in a much more urban area, which we haven’t ruled out one day, but for now we enjoy the peace of a villa whilst we havent yet spent a full summer here.  Our new place is at least walking distance to a shop and a few cafes, which will help.

Of course you don’t realise your auto-dependence so much when you take it for granted - 0nly when it lets you down!  Which it did this week, when we found coolant leaking all over the show.  Luckily R has managed to get it fixed, we hope - airport run tomorrow, so really really really hope it IS fixed!

It’s funny how you learn the Spanish that you need as well.  I am getting quite good at ordering a vegetarian meal anywhere, whilst R has a load of specialist vocabulary about thermostats and radiators that I hope I will never require…

Yes its been a long time!  But if anyone’s still following, I am trying to get motivated enough to start blogging again.  The last few months in a nutshell… still in Spain, in a cold damp house, hopefully about to move to a smaller warmer one, and looking forward to the summer!

Well, with Summer Time officially commenced, I have faced facts and joined a gym.  Had to be done - between the wonderful food and cheap wine, Spain is officially bad for my health.  Combined with the typical homeworker tendency to sit on one’s backside all day, it’s a great recipe for said backside to spread indefinitely.

It’s not helped by the difficulties in walking around here.  It’s funny, because going for an evening stroll, a ‘paseo’, is very much a part of Spanish culture.  However where we live it’s just not easy - streets are narrow and without pavements, hills are steep, and every other house has a loud and aggressive-sounding guard dog to freak at you (and make you leap off the non-existent pavement into the path of the car struggling up the steep hill in the middle of the narrow road).  I do try and walk when I can, eg down to the mailboxes centre a couple of times a week, but the local leg of the journey in our urb is dangerous and weird… and so not done, people slow their cars down to stare at you, or ask if you’re ok or have broken down!

I do have to say that if you don’t mind driving somewhere first, there are numerous beautiful walks and strolls to be had - whether up in the hills, or along the beach, or whatever.  I just do find it weird that I cant start my walk on the doorstep easily.

Anyway, the gym.  I have to drive to it, naturally, but its only 10 minutes or so up the hill in Balcon al Mar.  Run by a very friendly Dutch couple, and has lots of scary equipment… in fact the only thing it hasnt got is a big room empty of equipment for general aerobic leaping about in, which is the kind of class I usually go for at a gym.  But they have lots of complicated looking gear to make you fit with.  I enquired about doing pilates once a week, and was told in a very blunt but polite way that there was no point doing any toning until I had done several weeks worth of fat burning!  So that’s what I have signed up for initially.

Fat burning class is 1 hour long, the first half of which is ’spinning’ - like cycling, only without the dogshit and lorries - and then half an hour of circuit on the ‘Easy Line’ equipment - a minute of step, then a machine, then step, and so on round about 8 stations.  Its quite fun, and a very friendly and supportive group of people.  They also have a power plate machine, which is a kind of migraine-generator that you stand on, and it’s supposed to vibrate your cellulite away.  They play cool and funky music, which helps a lot - I couldnt stand the mixes used at gyms in the UK.  They are very scientific about measuring your heart rate, and I need to get a proper monitor.  They’ve given me a cheststrap transmitter, but often when you’re in the bikes room there are too many people close together, and the monitor on the handlebars in front of me is probably picking up the triatheletes on either side instead of foretelling my imminent infarct as I try like mad to make it register in my predicted ‘fatburning zone’.

Anyway I am trying to find the space in the week to pop along and do 3 classes a week - that’s what I’ve paid for but so far averaging 2.  Watch this space, beautiful beach body here I come.  Maybe…

Just got back, after a few days back in London. 

Quite a strange emotional journey, the first trip back to the place that used to be home.  Of course it’s always hard leaving the family, but it was made harder this time by Richard severely twisting his ankle and being barely able to walk / drive etc… I hated leaving him to it, even with as much preparation as possible doing all the parenting for even 4 days is hard work, we all know that.

I had a lift to the airport with a friend who had guests on the same flight, so that was a  huge help.  Arriving back in Stansted I was met by Mum and Stephen who took me back to their place in Cambridge, and it was really lovely to see them again and in their familiar context – it was all so familiar, it was as though Spain had never happened in a weird way!  But then talking to the kids and Richard on Skype reassured me that both worlds can go on existing simultaneously somehow.

I took the train into London the following morning, and visited clients and colleagues in the rainy grey city.  I had very little time in my schedule for retail therapy – it was as though my London head had taken over in frantic overscheduling, and some people I had hoped to see I never caught up with at all!  I did manage a very pleasant dinner with Nina and Mark, who also put me up that night.  Also that evening I had the weird experience of visiting our old house – but no longer our home – in Molesey, which I expected to be emotionally challenging but was in fact fine.  It was good to see our tenants clearly contented and keeping the place in decent order, and it didn’t look or feel like home so that was just alright.  I delved into the office lockup for a load of summer clothes, and our old Sky box which Richard had high hopes for.

Next day a colleague living locally kindly drove me into London, as my luggage load had increased substantially.  It took over 2 and a half hours of nose to tail traffic, barely breathable air, under slate grey skies…  I thought about driving along the coast road to the Port in the sunshine in Javea, with the orange groves to one side and the Montgo glowing orange in the horizon… and I smiled quietly to myself. 

It was wonderful to see everyone, as my back to back meetings included a lovely Saros reunion lunch.  Working with these people every day it wasn’t like we’d missed each other in the usual sense, but as we only manage to get together face to face a few times a year it is always very special, and from a meeting point of view we also accomplished a lot.  I am already looking forward to our big summer party, even though I know I’ll be speaking to everyone again on Friday once I’m back at my desk.  I am so lucky to work with such a great bunch of people, who mean a very great deal to me.

I didn’t shed any tears though as I waved goodbye to London and sped away from Kings Cross back up to Cambridge, where I had another lovely evening with Mum and Stephen hearing all about their recent exploration of India and seeing all their amazing photos.  I also had lots of beautiful gifts to try and cram into my bulging rucksack, which came in just under the Easyjet weight allowance somehow!

Next morning I was headed for home, and as I finally saw the blue skies and sunshine of Spain, lighting on the faces of my lovely family who drove to Alicante to get me, I knew that now I was truly back where I belonged…

We were woken about 5 in the morning by the kind of howling that penetrates deep into your dreams, and has every parent scrabbling to their feet in a panic – before you realise that the noise is actually feline rather than human.  Satisfying ourselves that Merlin was in, as he is all night given we can’t put a catflap in someone else’s front door, we pulled the pillows over our heads and tried to go back to sleep.

The problem is, the occupants of the large house opposite us a couple of weeks back did a very short notice run back to the UK for financial reasons-  leaving SIX pet cats ‘to fend for themselves’.  How on earth do you end up responsible, using the term very loosely, for 6 dependent creatures, when you know you can’t possibly afford to take care of them in your long term plans?  I couldn’t believe it when she told us, the morning of their flit to the airport, that she was simply dumping them at the house.

Most of them seem pretty able to survive, a stroppy gang of tabbies, that until last night we thought had pretty much moved on and done their own thing…  but ‘Fluffy’ broke our hearts.  Not only had this woman – with whose daughters Cassie had struck up a brief intense friendship – tried to guilt-trip us, through Cassie, to take her on, she was also not even full grown: a beautiful black and white long hair and very affectionate.  She tried desperately to get into the house at every opportunity, and would sit on the windowsill crying all the time.  I felt so cruel telling the girls not to pet her or play with her, knowing that we would be stretched to the limit financially to board Merlin when we went back to the UK in the summer holidays.  The two cats actually seemed to get on OK, and if circumstances were different and we WANTED a second cat it could all have worked out fine, but this was not the case.  I still snuck over the road and put out food on her old doorstep, as well as water, but I don’t know whether she got it or her old housemates who we rarely saw – and I felt very mixed up about perpetuating the problem, whilst at the same time unable to watch her starve on our doorstep.

No one wanted Fluffy.  All the local animal shelters are at capacity, and every enquiry we sent out came back null, every animal lover has had to harden their hearts about the endless abandoned animals left behind by broke Brits going home.  Sam at Woofers didn’t know anyone, and they are having to be increasingly cautious about their own client’s intentions these days, even Cindy from the veggie group who put out loads of feelers didn’t turn up anyone seeking a new pet.  The cat shelter at Denia refused to take her as they are full.  Eventually we found a German charity in Benidorm, who agreed – originally they wanted a €100 donation in return for taking her in!  We pleaded that she wasn’t even our cat, but that we’d do the transporting, eventually settling for a reduced donation- they don’t get any funding, and very animal they take in is neutered and dewormed immediately, so their costs are huge.

We drove down the coast with Fluff howling and freaking out in Merlin’s cat box – we didn’t know if she’d ever seen a car for a trip to a vet before.  Eventually we found Ana, after getting increasingly lost in Albir, and she took her in, plus some donated goods we had found for her boot sales they use to fundraise.  She called us later to say the cat had already been spayed, which means someone cared enough for her once to do that (and made me feel a bit better about haggling down the donation).  I promised we’d see what else we could do to raise money for them – they are called Gatami, and based in Benidorm, reachable on 966806976 – don’t even have a website, but their reputation is good.  They do a regular boot fair stall in Denia and are pleased to accept donations of anything they can sell there to support their work, and they have never put a healthy cat down.  Like every shelter I spoke to, their normal MO is that animals come and go, they’re a great source of free pets for expats and Spaniards alike, but everything’s changed now and all they get is animals in, with so many people leaving.  Aldea Feline said they get cats dumped at their gate in the middle of the night, tied to the gate with string or in cardboard boxes… 

It’s a sad and cruel complication of the credit crunch:  sad enough that so many small businesses and families are going under financially – there is no safety net here – and the fact is it costs a bloody fortune to take a pet home to the UK.  All Merlin’s jabs and pet passport cost the best part of £300, not to bring him here which is unrestricted but in case we ever need to take him back.  Then the flight – through a restricted number of carriers – was around another £400. Which is why we could not and would not take on another cat right now.    Rabies is a terrifying and as yet incurable disease, but it was eradicated from the Spanish dog population by the 60s (compliance with nationwide animal vaccination programmes being one of the few upsides of rigid dictatorship) – a very few cases still show in bats occasionally each year.  Britain’s position on keeping the island entirely rabies free is understandable but the costs and beauracracy involved in vaccinating and certifying animals is causing tremendous suffering here.

I have never been a dog person, but I know that it’s even worse for them.  Not only are the costs of the Pet passport scheme + shipping significantly higher, they are far less likely to cope in the wild.  I walked past the Apasa dog pound the other day, their lonely whining would break anyone’s heart – as would the sign on the door begging people not to dump their animals and find a humane solution as they are absolutely unable to take in one more.  Every one of those poor howling creatures had been raised with the expectations and dependence of being a family pet, not the wild feral creatures they are indeed related to but have become so different from…  I wish people would think twice and three times, before making a commitment they cannot fulfill long term.

Long time no post!  But we’ve had a busy week…

We were looking forward to half term, because it felt like for both us and the children we had arrived then pitched directly into work/school, without much adjustment time – well, it’s not easy to be tourists in midwinter in any case.  We had plenty to look forward to as we did our best to get the house cleared up and rearranged in anticipation of our first houseguests.

Sunday morning I got up early and scooted down to Grenadella, looking forward to my first ‘proper’ walk, a free guided excursion organised by the local tourist board.   It was a 3 hour hike through beautiful countryside, initially well inland and steep hairpin bends that left me without sufficient breath to curse my lack of fitness and embarrassed at being the youngest and least fit person there apart from our guides (who were around my age but in far better shape for climbing I hasten to add).  Then we came out onto a slightly scary but incredibly beautiful ridge walk, from which we could see for miles in every direction, from Cap San Antonio in the north to Ifach at Calpe in the south.  It’s a shame it was a dull and gloomy day, the views were still quite incredible but I wondered if I would be able to find and follow the intermittently marked path again on a sunny day.  We passed down to “Grenadella castle”, the ruins of an 18^th Century defensive fortification, after which we appeared to be quite close to the beach.  The last part of the trail was extremely hairy however, at one point involving nothing I would describe as a pathway at all, just chains bolted to the rock to help you scramble round – not a little stroll up from the beach I would fancy attempting en familia, unfortunately.

Anyway later that day my sister, her husband, and 2 and a half kids arrived from the UK, and the girls were thrilled to be reunited.  Lara wore herself out completely, and spent most of the night awake with earache which was far from ideal as she ended up in our bed (so we had no sleep instead of the other kids), and next day was Cassie’s long awaited birthday party – deferred from her actual birthday the week we arrived.  Lara perked up magnificently though Richard was feeling unwell too after our rough night, but somehow I got all the food prepared and between us we shuttled up to Pinosol Park, a short distance up the road, where her friends from school all arrived.  The kids seemed to have a really fantastic afternoon, all mixing well including her cousins from England, and Lara’s best friend from nursery also came so there was a great spread of ages - although at one point we lost most of the older ones who seemed to set up a tribal camp on the opposite side of the park, only emerging to wave sticks at the grownups and shout a lot, before a quick cake raid.  A lot of the food, even the savoury stuff, got eaten, which is always a good sign.

The party ended abruptly when Lara, running on fumes by now but having a brilliant time, suddenly got to tired to hold on to the swing and dived headfirst to the floor instead.  Nina rushed the two of us home where I got her cleaned up and tried to calm and comfort her, but it was really scary as she cried for about 2 solid hours before drifting off to sleep, and her face was badly bruised and scratched.  As always when a small child is tired and  in pain, she regressed a good year or two in age and communication skills, and we had no way of knowing how badly she was hurt.  Eventually she seemed to be sleeping peacefully, and thank god woke up more cheerful and apparently with no lasting damage, but it was a horrible moment, and we were rushing round researching hospitals and clinics etc whilst trying to be jolly hosts and cope with post-party clear-up – not much fun.

The rest of the week went well though and the weather was kind – we spent most of the time at local beaches where it was paddling weather, certainly for fast-moving small people, and indeed emergency clothes changes were required on more than one occasion for those inclined to misjudge the incoming waves and suddenly find themselves doing rather more than paddling.  Picnics and sandy toes reminded me why we had uprooted our lives from the familiarity our guests represented, and I knew we’d done the right thing watching the children play so happily – all my childhood, beaches were a 2 week treat in Wales every summer, and I always promised myself I would live near the sea sometime, why had I we waited so long to give our children this lifestyle?  Well, lots of good practical reasons as it happened, but here we finally were, even though our guests kept saying how it wouldn’t suit them.  We checked out new beaches at Moraira, Cap Blanc and Denia, but the kids always loved the Arenal (with its climbing frames and golden sand) best of all.

On their last day we went into Jalon, just to explore a bit of the interior, and although our Nina and Mark didn’t enjoy the mountain roads as much as we had hoped – we took them the pretty way through Gata and Lliber -  they made it half way up the Coll de Rates where we stopped for a picnic in the pineforests with incredible views, across the whole of Jalon valley and out to the Montgo and the sea at Denia.  The weather was perfect – just right for picnics without worrying about sunburn – and the kids loved exploring the mountain trails.

At the weekend we were back to the valley for lunch at La Vall with the Montgo Vegetarians, lovely to see Brian and Cindy and everyone again and the food was very excellent – even Richard seemed to like it.  The journey back was interrupted by road closures in Gata as the local kids had their Carnavale parade, it appears our kids had theirs a week early due to half term timing, so we got to watch all the village children and their famililes parade past the car in their colourful costumes.  On the last day of the hols we went back to the Arenal again to meet Lara’s friend from school, and it has already reached the stage where we can go there anytime and both girls will be pretty much guaranteed to hook up with friends from school or last time.  I love it so much that we live 5 minutes away from this kind of fun and the sheer delight they take in dodging the surf… though I hope that as the season and temperature develops we may reduce our laundry load slightly, or simply learn to strip them off in anticipation of the inevitable soaking that seems to occur whatever the our plans/instructions/the weather.

On the final afternoon we drove out to the lighthouse at Cabo San Antonio, for amazing views of the bay, though it was very windy and none of us were dressed for a walk.  We drove back via the mirador at Els Molins, from where the views of Javea were simply incredible, and I longed to follow the path back down into the Port – with different footwear and no small children though, so another day.  We contented ourselves with a stroll around the pine forests at the top, and once again thanked our good fortune in living at such a beautiful and inspirational place.