I arrived in Palma in January 2012, in a fog. It wasn't exactly out of the darkness but it wasn't shiny and bright either. I felt like an astronaut at zero gravity, I was moving but very slowly.
Me and my million kilos of excess baggage were put up by the fabulous Jose and his roommate Alfie, a self assured Scottish terrier.
They not only opened their home to me, Jose guided me through all of the bureaucracy needed to make me an official Palma resident, entitling me to a Citizen card (like a London Oyster card) and discounted travel within Spain. He also put me in touch with someone who sorted out my status as "autonoma" (self employed), quite probably the best 90€ I've ever spent! At home he fed me, told me I was beautiful and when he was out at work, Alfie kept me company.
A week later it was time to fly off to my new job. My original flight had been booked with Spanair and as the company folded, I chose to take it as a good sign, hell, thanks to my new discount status it only cost 20€ and Air Europa saved the day.
In Madrid I was put up by the lovely Maria del Agua (Mary of the Water) who has one of the biggest hearts ever. I attended my training course, a dire waste of time and energy but I smiled and nodded and played along. Maria came and went, split up with her boyfriend and we bitched until he came to collect his stinky cat.
Then it was time to get to work, I shipped off for a weekend of observation at the Cason (big house) in a butt fuck nowhere village of Segovia called Cerezo de Arriba. It was snowing heavily but the house was cheerfully warmed by a roaring fire in the living room.
I observed my job was to teach the students something for hour long 1 to 1 classes punctuated by food every 2 hours and then spend the evening chatting and playing games and drinking. (On a week long course this included an excursion to a neighbouring town or village, like Sepulveda, on a Wednesday afternoon).
Job done! So that's what I did until the beginning of March when I returned to Palma. I felt my feet where on the ground, and the sun was shining.
It was time to find a home of my own and with the help of my good friend Ray, I decided on the area, Cala Mayor, and I perused a few websites. "I can't live in a studio, it would be like living in my wardrobe!" I declared. "Call this one!" I'd seen an ad posted that morning for a 1 bed apartment, minutes from the beach and you could see the sea from the terrace, and the price was right!
Ray made the call and the next day we set out to view the property. We got there on time but had to wait as the owner had forgotten the key.... We used the time to check out the barrio. The ground floor of the building is a supermarket and the bus stop is outside the building. "It's perfect for you" said Ray.
Finally we were inside, I was still in the hallway when I made up my mind. "Do you want it?" Ray asked, "YES!!!" I replied. "Well have a look round then you silly cow!" He said. As l looked around, it got better and better, a proper kitchen with an oven, the renovated bathroom, the view from the terrace and the
piece de resitance in the bedroom, a whole wall of fitted wardrobe!!!!!!
"WHERE DO I SIGN?" 3 days later, I was home and nearly blinded by the lights.
I spent the next few months bouncing between Palma and Cerezo and making my home my own (hanging up my clothes). La Xarini was back, I changed my hair, did my nails, I felt like a whole new me!
So I thought I'd give some internet dating a try, if nothing else at least I'd make a few new friends. First was the paparazzi a sweetie who helped me out when I ran out of gas but didn't quite get my self reliance.Then there was the lifeguard from Formentera, we had the kind of date dreams are made of in Ibiza but he had his things to do and I was still getting used to being me again and that was the end of that.
Friends and family came to visit with instructions of what to bring from my extensive collection of stuff preserved at my parents' home and they loved the fact that I live 7 minutes walk to the beach despite the steps of death!
Meanwhile, my parents abandoned Wheelers Lane for a smaller house around the corner. I got a call at work, "Are you at home?" asked my mother, "No, but I'll be back next week". "Good because the truck will arrive with all your
shit from the garage on Tuesday."
I couldn't breathe, I think I actually dropped the phone. By keeping all my
shit in my parents garage, I had always felt that if the worst came to the worst, like it had before, I could just go home and when I was ready to go again, I could just, leave. I didn't need to pack EVERYTHING!
12 boxes and a leather armchair arrived at the beginning of September. At first I was horrified but rather than become overwhelmed I relished finding a place for everything, putting up pictures, rediscovering my kitchen equipment, hanging clothes and running out of space to put my shoes. I really was home.
By October I thought if I'm to make it through the winter, I need to make some more friends so I decided to try the internet dating one more time. I've often been likened to the character of Carrie Bradshaw and there I found my Mr. Big.
I was living the dream! Being driven around in an Aston Martin by a man who was both attractive and erudite. There where haute cuisine dinners and champagne and wines and gin, the apartment with the rooftop hot tub and the country house with the pool and designer LED lighting.
Meanwhile, my parents moved house and I arrived to spend Christmas with them the same time as the removals truck. Christmas was a little manic that year, but I was happier than I'd been in a long time.
Thanks to everyone who helped make my dreams come true in 2012, you know who you are, no doubt I got drunk and told you!
- Posted from my iPad
