The LEASE has been signed!

Today we hit a milestone – we found a tenant for our home and the lease has been signed!

I came home from work and the FOR LEASE sign had been pasted over with a LEASED sticker – sending me into a split-second “What have we done??” moment. Of course, this was no surprise as the agent had texted me as soon as the contract had been signed, not to mention the numerous texts and conversations in the days prior about approving this particular tenant. Nevertheless, seeing it on our front lawn was a bit of a reality slap in the face. I can’t imagine how I would have felt if it was a SOLD sign!

The tenants look like a nice young family – mum, dad and a small child. They reminded me of how we were when we moved in 17 years ago. The Universe has a funny way of working. When we had the first (and only) Open Home, there was a group of 10-12 people waiting to come in as we were leaving. In front of the group I spotted a young family with mum carrying a young girl in her arms. We got in the car to leave and I turned to Hubby - “I want them”, I said referring to the young family. I then forgot about them and we went about our weekend wondering how on earth we would keep our house spotless until the next Open Home the following week – until I got an email with all the details for an application from the agent late Sunday night. It was them!

In the days following there were other applicants from that Open Home but the agent and I ruled them out in favour of this one.

Tenant selection is an interesting process, one which I thought would be way harder for our beloved family home. While the usual boxes need to be ticked, I tend to rely heavily on gut. Luckily we had a strong candidate that ticked all the boxes AND felt right so we didn’t want to lose them to another home.

I’ve since stalked them on FB (they really should improve their security settings) and they seem just like the people I’d be happy to entrust our home to while we’re away…so I’m relieved to have that uncertainty resolved. The real estate agent has done all the other background checks to make sure they’re good tenants as it will be his problem to deal with if they aren’t.

SO…we will officially be homeless a few days before we fly out and start our journey on December 3.

Spanish Residency Visa granted

Today I picked up our passports with long stay residence visas for Spain! Woohooo!!!!

After what felt like the end of the world a few months ago (or the end of our year away at least) has managed to sort itself out – like it always does. The Spanish Consulate in Sydney eventually opened in late July and I quickly got our application underway conscious of the 3-month lead time required. 

The email approval came through 3 weeks later! So we went from a risk of not having enough time (to allow for a French visa application as well) to suddenly having too much time and being at risk of the visa being issued too early. Thankfully I somehow became ‘best buddies’ with my contact at the Spanish Consulate and she advised she could delay the issuing of the visa for another 30 days to the end of September, then delay the visa start date to the end of December… after which we would need to enter Spain within 3 months to establish our residency. Since we were planning to be in Spain by end of January that worked fine!

Cat and Bee’s Spanish passports were received a few months back as expected so they’re all set. In theory, they will be able to travel and work without restriction while in Europe… except on this trip they’ll be stuck with us so they’ll just have to save that for another time.

The French long stay visa was a ‘no go’. We went to the French Consulate in Sydney ready to lodge our visa application only to find out we couldn’t do it from Sydney. The visa requires us to enter France 3 months from the date of issue and since we don’t plan to be in France until sometime in late April or May that wasn’t going to work. The other option for us would be to apply for our French long stay visa from Madrid which is still a possibility but may require the cancellation of our Spanish long-stay visas. So we’re not sure about that one.

Given our current status, the plan is to base ourselves in Spain while using the maximum 3-month stay in every 6-month period travelling through other parts of the Schengen and non-Schengen areas visa-free. We’ve had to shuffle around some of our plans and will need to keep an eye on how long we are in the Schengen area but I’m no longer too worried about this. We’ll make it work… somehow. I feel incredibly grateful that we’re even in a position to do this and we’ll just have to make do with what we have.

On the work front, Hubby has had is career break approved. My one is in progress and looking good. This is a bonus! I wasn’t sure whether we would both be lucky enough to get this but it looks like we will. Knowing we have something to come back to - especially since I actually like my job and the people I work with, not to mention we’ll probably be broke - is definitely a bonus.

Packing is well underway. Hubby and I have had to divide and conquer with exactly 2 months to the day before we fly out on December 3. December 3?! 2 months?! Yes! We’re booked! One-way tickets to Frankfurt, Germany where we start our year away!

Hubby has been glued to his laptop finalising flight and accommodation bookings for the first couple of months until we arrive in Spain towards the end of January to catch our breath, while I’ve been covered in dust and boxes trying to rid ourselves of the clutter of the past 17 years in this house. After 4 car loads to Salvos to donate items and 19 boxes packed for storage (do I even want to keep that many boxes?), it looks like I’ve done nothing. I knew we had a lot of crap but really??!

With the Salvos furniture donation pick up already booked for next week, the next step will be to schedule the Council pick up and skip bins for anything that can’t be donated. It’s been such a liberating experience getting rid of all that “stuff”… the material baggage that weighs us down and keeps us anchored to a location. I can’t wait until all we have left are the suitcases we will be taking with us for a year on the road.

Speaking of suitcases… Cat almost had a conniption when I announced we would have to make everything fit in 2 large suitcases and 2 carry-on bags… for all 5 of us! Just her make-up alone would take up an entire carry-on - I don’t know why when she doesn’t even need it! Needless to say the jury is still out on the family baggage allowance which will be way less than the airline baggage allowance if we want our things to fit in a rental car without having to hire a trailer. So packing our bags will be interesting…

A lot has happened over the past few months with even more to happen in these final 2 months. Our to-do list runs a mile long. Our conversations are centred around what needs to be done, what to get rid of, what to keep. When I’m not at work, I’m doing something in preparation for the trip – whether it’s selecting the agent to manage the rental of our home while we’re away or finding out what to do with our mail or finalising details for Bee and Mig’s schooling there’s always something to do – which is partly the reason why I’m writing these updates.

When we finally leave, to the outside world it may look like we’ve just quit our jobs, packed our bags and jumped on a plane. While I wish that were true, the reality couldn’t be further from the truth. When a family of 5 goes away for a year, it’s simply not that easy – but it’s not impossible either. Everything about preparing for this trip has been carefully planned - the timing, the savings plan, the schooling, the visas, and to a lesser extent the itinerary. Ironically, planning and preparing for this trip has taken as much time, if not longer, than the actual trip itself.

Which leads me to end with this thought…will a year away really be long enough?

Visa dramas continue...

A lot has happened in just over 2 weeks. Sometimes it feels like it’s been longer than that so it’s great that this blog gives me some perspective.

The Spanish Consulate General in Sydney is still on strike – going onto a month now – and Canberra has been forced to take on the Sydney load. We drove to the Spanish Embassy in Canberra last week to get Cat and Bee’s Spanish passports renewed which went without a hitch thanks to all the prep work before the 6-hour return trip. I was told they should arrive in the mail within 3 weeks.

Our visas on the other hand are another story… and right now I just want to crawl in a hole and cry. I won’t go into the details here but long story short is that we will need to apply for a Spanish long-stay visa (no work) and we’ve decided to apply for a French long stay visa as well. The reason for this is so we can break up our year using both Spain and France as our base, while travelling to the other Schengen countries using the 90-day visa free period allowed to Australian citizens.

At this stage I'm too emotionally exhausted to even write about it. I'm just thanking my lucky stars that we weren't counting on Hubby finding work there to make this plan work. The biggest frustration comes from thinking how much easier this would have been if Hubby just had his Spanish citizenship rather than facing what is. I need to work on that one...

Overcoming obstacles...

I feel like I’ve been talking about this plan forever. It’s been 3 years in the making. Ever since our last trip to Europe in 2013 we always knew we wanted to go back – for much longer. 

We decided 2018 was going to be the year. Cat would have finished Year 12 so this could be her gap year before Uni, Bee would be in Year 9 – not a critical high school year, Mig would be in Year 4. If we didn’t do it in 2018 as a family, it was unlikely we’d ever be able to do it once the kids started going their own way.

To kick start that plan many things were put in place. For starters, I sold my business and went back to permanent part-time work so we could start saving. So you could say that this plan (although sometimes it felt like a pipe dream) has been bubbling under the surface for quite some time.

We’re now in July, 5 months before our planned departure of December 2017 and I’m starting to freak out. Just typing that sentence puts butterflies in my stomach. The last 12 months has been nothing short of an emotional roller coaster with us finding out Hubby's mum was sick, then losing her a few months later to cancer. I’ve never had any experience dealing with someone so sick, let alone a parent, so this is something that I felt pulled the rug from under our feet a bit. So much so we were suddenly uncertain if we could still go ahead as planned. As it turns out, going away has now become a need rather than a want.

By the time we returned to our routines after Hubby’s mum’s passing, it was already May. And to help Hubby heal from the loss, I felt like we needed to focus on what was ahead of us. It was time to get things into gear for our year away. So while we’ve technically been planning this for 3 years, I feel like we’re behind the 8-ball a bit when it comes to logistically pulling it off.

And as with all great plans, there are always a few good curve balls that test your resilience. And as if we needed another one thrown our way, we got one anyway - when just over a week ago we found out that Hubby had lost his Spanish citizenship in 2006. Yup! In 2006! Heaven knows what we were even doing or thinking in 2006! So 6 months out from a trip we have been planning for the past 3 years and we find out that the very foundation that would enable our entire trip does not exist.

How could we not have known this before, I hear you ask. Don’t worry. I asked myself the same thing. You see, Hubby renewed his Spanish passport in 2010. Then in 2011, our marriage was registered with the Spanish Consulate in Sydney and a Libro de Familia was issued – an official document that registers the marriage and births of children to a Spanish citizen. In 2012, all 3 kids were issued their Spanish passports. To us, everything looked normal. We knew the kids’ passports needed to be renewed so I started the process a few weeks ago with the Spanish Consulate in Sydney. Plenty of time I thought. It was only June, we are planning to leave in December.

I’ll never forget the moment I read the email from the Consulate advising us that Hubby was no longer a Spanish citizen – and neither was Mig. I was in Melbourne for work and was shaking. I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the day. How could this happen?? They both had Spanish passports. J’s was still valid. M’s had expired so they wouldn’t renew it. Luckily Cat and Bee have managed to retain their citizenship so renewal will be allowed.

This is still an open dilemma with no clear solution. In what is almost a comical twist of events (if I don’t laugh I could cry), the Spanish Consulate in Sydney went on an indefinite strike 2 days after delivering us the blow leaving us in limbo. They are still closed and the Spanish Embassy in Canberra has advised they’re unable to assist with citizenship enquiries as Sydney is outside their jurisdiction. Watch this space!

Morocco - Erg Chebbi Dunes, Sahara Desert

Exactly 2 years ago to this day, on 1 March 2013, we were making our way to one of the many highlights of our European/North African adventure - an overnight stay and camel trek to the dunes of the Sahara Desert in Morocco. This was another non-negotiable on the trip. I wasn't going to Morocco without a trip to the desert.

We left the city of Marrakech behind and had been travelling for 3 days by camel through the Moroccan country side... just kidding (we were in a 4 x 4 Japanese camel - Toyota Prado). From the snow-capped High Atlas Mountains to the numerous kasbahs that littered the country side, to the UNESCO World Heritage site of Ait Ben Haddou - one of the most famous Kasbahs in Morocco.

We had seen a lot by this stage and were slowly falling in love with the country with the help of our driver and guide - Fahid (not his real name). Incidentally, Fahid was originally from Merzouga - where we were headed as the base camp for this desert adventure. He used to be a camel guide at the dunes until he traded his 4-legged camel with the 4 x 4 Japanese version we were now in. He was fluent in Arabic, English, German, and French... which seemed like no big deal for people in this part of the world. Fahid was a character, always polite but with a quiet confidence that told you he was in control. He knew our itinerary and the distances we had to cover so he was sure to keep us on schedule without unnecessarily rushing us. We had hours of driving time with Fahid and because we were keen to know as much as we could about the country and the Moroccan people we had many questions for him. He filled us in on Moroccan culture - stuff you wouldn't necessarily get from travel books - do's and don'ts as a visitor, the anonymity between the locals and the French, his love of country, stories about the many travellers that had ridden his Japanese camel, even his religious views (he appeared to be as Muslim as I am Catholic). I was impressed by his intelligence. Not the academic type of intelligence gained from years of formal schooling but worldly intelligence gained from life experience and interaction with different people and cultures.

Despite all we had seen I couldn't help but feel the best was still yet to come...and I wasn't disappointed.

Finally arrived at Base Camp, Merzouga aboard our 'Japanese camel'.

Bee and Mig excited by all the sand... what else is there to do but make sand angels of course?! Our bivouac accommodation in the background.

Our bivouac accommodation for 2 nights at Base Camp. We originally only planned to stay 1 night but made a last minute change to our itinerary to add the extra night and skip our next destination - a town called Chefchaouen. I don't regret the extra night in the desert as it gave us a better experience and I would recommend 2 nights to anyone who asked but I do regret not being able to visit Chefchaouen - a good reason to return to Morocco.

Mud packed toilet block at Base Camp.

Leaving Base Camp for a camel trek to the Erg Chebbi dunes, Sahara Desert. 

Camel crossing. Our destination Erg Chebbi dunes in the distance.

That's us... except for Hubby who chose to ride the Japanese camel to the dunes.

View from top of the Erg Chebbi dunes out to the Algerian border.

Resting with our camels after the long ride to the dunes.

Mig would slide down the dunes on the snowboard screaming in delight but his little legs couldn't make the climb back up. Our poor guide from Base Camp went beyond the call of duty and trekked up the dunes with Mig on his shoulders... every time. If he wasn't only 3 years old at the time I would have said Mig was taking advantage of the situation.

On top of Erg Chebbi dunes, Sahara Desert, Morocco. The Algerian border in the distance.

Base Camp at Merzouga. Erg Chebbi dunes in the distance.

I mentioned to Fahid that I wanted to learn how to cook Moroccan food so he arranged for us to help in the kitchen. This is cooking couscous the looonnngg way. They laughed at me and didn't believe me when I told them we had a 5-minute version in Australia. This took about an hour. Vegetable tagine which we helped prepare cooking in the background. The cook didn't speak English (and I don't speak French or Arabic) so there was a lot of sign language involved in this cooking lesson. It didn't matter... I'm sticking to my 5-minute version.

Evening bonfire at Base Camp... we were entertained with local songs and bongo drums under the desert stars.

Waiting for the sun to rise at Base Camp...priceless.

Hubby mesmerised by the flame and trying to keep warm at sunrise.

Another day exploring on camel-back.

One of the many wells scattered around the desert that serve as a source of water for the surrounding communities. Our guide must have thought we were crazy getting a thrill from pulling the 'bucket' up and down... me included. I had never seen a working well before, much less one in the middle of the desert.

It was our turn to teach our guide something new... stress relief. He had never heard of the term before. Mig started throwing hardened bits of clay from the ground onto the side of the well and it shattered like a ceramic plate. I instinctively tried to stop him then thought why not... so we all picked up pieces of dried earth and started hurling them at the side of the well watching them shatter. It was quite therapeutic and I told our guide to try it. He really must have thought people from Australia are crazy. 

Sad to be leaving our camels and the friendly staff at Base Camp after 2 nights in the desert but looking forward to a good shower. Next stop... Fez.

Dreaming of a white Christmas...

It's that time of year again when I find myself dreaming of a white Christmas... not just any white Christmas but a white Christmas in the little Austrian village of Strobl along the shores of Lake Wolfgang to be exact.

Christmas lights twinkling in the night, Christmas carols filling the air, the smell of log fires and chestnuts roasting, snow covered mountains and pathways, the Christmas markets...oh the Christmas markets... not to mention the sense of peace and calm I felt when we were there. I've never actually been there at Christmas time (we went in Spring) but that's my idea of Christmas...

(Photo credit: www.salzburger-bergadvent.at)

It's a bit different from what Christmas in Australia has become - for me at least. Every year I usually find myself getting to Christmas eve coming to a screeching halt. With the end of school year dance concerts, presentation days, office Christmas parties, birthday parties, putting up the Christmas tree, and managing the busiest trading period of an online retail store, it's become one of the most frantic times of the year.

I would prefer to sashay my way up to Christmas - with time to bake goodies for friends and wrap them in nice packaging, with time to enjoy the Christmas carols and sights around the city, with time to put up the Christmas tree and actually enjoy it instead of feeling like it's just another chore on the long list of things to do, with time to wrap gifts with pretty little bows - all while somehow creating some fond Christmas memories for the kids.

Musing from my Madrid rooftop

Yesterday, June 30, was Filipino-Spanish Friendship Day in the Philippines. Not that I usually know or pay attention to many of these things, except that a friend felt it was relevant (since I was in Madrid) and forwarded a Facebook post about it to me. I light-heartedly vowed to celebrate it with churros con chocolate from the popular Chocolateria San Gines in Madrid (I was going to have it anyway but this ensured I would get it sooner rather than later).

As I enjoyed my churros later that evening (more like midnight but that's just Madrid), I told Hubby this was my way of celebrating Fil-Spanish Friendship Day. He replied "But you're not Filipino, and you're not even Spanish either." I sat there momentarily speechless. Ouch, but there was truth to his statement. "So what am I then?", I asked a bit disappointed and no longer sure of the answer.

"So what am I then?"... this question has plagued me on more than just this occasion.

Several years back, while holidaying in Fiji, part of the 'show' at the resort was to see where the different guests were from. Naturally, we went to the front when "Australia" was called out...and there we were - my sunburnt, dark-skinned family even darker than normal from days in the Fijian sun - standing amongst other Caucasian Australians with their equally Aussie accents. I felt out of place. To make it worse, the host went on to 'lecture' the audience about heritage...and that where we are from is not where we live, but it's who we are...our identity.

Was he referring to us - the family that clearly looked out of sync? Should we have said we were from the Philippines? Would that have been more acceptable?

Just a bit of background...
I was born and spent most of my school years in the Philippines - except the first 4 years of school which I spent in a British school in Bangkok, Thailand while my father was on assignment. Both parents are of Filipino-Spanish descent, and both spoke Spanish to each other and my grandmother around the house, as well as to other relatives. Neither obtained a Spanish passport nor was there a desire to as I distinctly recall my father's words at the dinner table when the topic came up: "I was born and raised a Filipino. What's the point?"

English is the first language I can recall, learning Filipino (Tagalog) upon our return to Manila towards the end of Year 3. By Year 5 the Special Filipino classes ended and I was integrated into normal classes. By high school I was fully literate in written/verbal Tagalog, speaking  it better than my brothers...mainly because I hung around Tagalog-speaking friends and the maids. I could understand my parents' Spanish conversations - to some extent. Up until last year, in my early 40s, I had never been to Spain. 

Straight after University, at the ripe old age of 21, I migrated to Australia to begin my working life. Except for a brief 2-year stint returning to the Philippines to experience working there (and getting married to Hubby who is also coincidentally of Filipino-Spanish descent while there), I have remained in Australia ever since. 

Now 20 years later on holiday in Madrid, I was pondering the point Hubby made over our midnight churros. As we got back to the comforts of our rented Madrid apartment I came across this timely blog post from Carlos Celdran to commemorate the Fil-Spanish Friendship Day.

http://carlosceldran.tumblr.com/post/90313348225/its-the-hacienda-world-as-we-know-it-the-decline-of

It is as relevant, if not more, to me today than when he wrote it 8 years ago. After all, who would be better-placed to nail it on the head? Not only is Carlos of Filipino-Spanish descent from a prominent Filipino family himself, but he has also established himself as a sought-after, albeit controversial, tour guide (aka historian) around the Spanish walled city of Intramuros in Manila. So he knows all too well the very society and history he talks about. While I have never been (and am still not) comfortable being associated with or as the 'coño kid' variety he describes, it has put into context many of the comments experienced throughout my childhood to today. Comments like 'Mestiza ka kasi' (Because you're 'mestiza'); 'Ay, Pilipina ka pala?' (Oh, you're Filipino?); 'You don't look/sound Filipino/Australian'.

It is little wonder then that I took it as a compliment (relief?) when a shop keeper in a little Andalucian village in rural Spain chose to speak in Spanish because she assumed I was a local - she switched to fluent English with a British accent when I told her 'No ablo Español' (I don't speak Spanish). And when our tour guide told me the same thing while visiting a Favela in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Finally, somewhere in the world I looked like a local. Finally, somewhere in the world I was being told I looked like I belonged - as long as I didn't open my mouth to speak, of course. I was still a fraud.

Travel undoubtedly teaches you many things about people and the world, but probably more important is what it teaches (or un-teaches) you about yourself.

With the question "What am I?" ringing in my thoughts as I continue to ponder the question from our Madrid rooftop, this line from Carlos' blog post hit home:

"Could it be that the Spanish mestizo, who never felt neither at home in the Philippine archipelago nor in the Iberian peninsula, could be cursed to roam the world never to find his stead?"

Except of course now I might just take that as an excuse to keep roaming...