How to Move to Spain in Five Long Years

In 2003, my husband and I eloped at the Seattle King County Court House. No wait, let me back up further than that. Six months earlier, I breathlessly called the wedding coordinator at Cranwell Resort a sprawling resort in western MA, and I said, “I’ll take it”. The wedding planner had been through this before and knew her part well, she giggled and exclaimed, “Great!” We chatted a bit longer, now co-conspirators in this whole Biggest-Day-Of-Your-Life bonanza.

That moment was the height of my wedding planning experience. It quickly went down hill from there, as I was living in Seattle, the wedding was in Western MA, my relatives lived hours away in all directions. I was a cork floating in the sea of over-price florists, catering menus that I couldn’t sample, and travel logistics that went to quickly to the absurd (flying into airport X, driving 2 hours to Y’s house, picking up Z and then driving 2 more hours). I suddenly realized that with our combined families being spread so far apart, nothing would be convenient for anyone. I tried to mitigate by choosing a centralized location, but in the end I only made it worse. It was now a major hassle for everyone.

I pulled the plug. It was the best decision I’ve ever made.

Sometimes you just have to cut and run. And that’s what I did. Yes, I lost some deposits, but in the end I avoided the thousands more in costs for a day that was quickly going over budget and stressing everyone out. Our families were very supportive, albeit disappointed that they wouldn’t be there for the ‘big day’. We’re not an overly sentimental bunch, so when our parents declined to fly out, I understood. That may sound like they shunned us, but it really wasn’t that big of a deal… and for us it wasn’t either. Marriage was always more about committing to a life together (which we had in some ways done by living together for the prior three years) than it was about the dress or impressing distant relatives. The whole wedding day, just felt, well, anti-climatic at this point.

Fast forward to Spain.

We had taken what remained of our wedding budget and splurged on two weeks overseas. We stayed in Barcelona just north of Las Ramblas in the middle of October. The city was grey and overcast for much of trip, but we didn’t mind. Everyday we headed out on foot, determined to see as much as possible in our short time.

To say that Spain was transformative sounds like hyperbole, but it was completely true.

It’s not that Barcelona is like an entirely different world. There are American movie posters at bus stops, most people will speak English to you—especially if you open with rusty HS Spanish and you can find many of the same high-end shops as any American city. As with anything, it was the little things that charmed us. The wonderful cafes, the walking mentality, being surrounded by history in a very modern city, the juxtaposition of absurdity and sophistication, of deep passion and light hearted fun. A city so wonderful, that it can do nothing wrong, so it does whatever it wants. We looked at each other and said, “We could live here.”

All it took was five years, lots of misplaced energy, speeding down the wrong path, before we stopped and circled back to the beginning.

And now all I can think is, well duh. We should have just stayed when we had the chance! Why do we make what we want so difficult?