Stressful Semana

After a much needed week-long break in England, and many catch ups with important people, it was time to start the Year Abroad Part 3 – Barcelona, Spain. After my time is Paris and Salzburg, I’d never felt more ready to start a new adventure. Like in France, I would be working for Zurich in Spain. I was prepared for the realities of a 9-5 job, had lived through the hottest summer in Paris, and equally the coldest winter in Salzburg, and had already experienced arriving in a country where I didn’t know a single person and was still thinking in another language (previously after my 24 hour turnaround between French and German, and now I was still dreaming in German until a couple of days ago!)

As I hadn’t spoken any Spanish since walking out of my oral exam last summer, the plan was to arrive a week before starting my job and do a language course in the mornings and apartment searching in the afternoons/evenings. I hoped that my Spanish would be up to scratch and I’d have found and moved into a flat before starting my job the next Monday.

In theory, I was pretty confident it would all work out or at least if it didn’t, that I’d been more than prepared for it. Needless to say, this didn’t quite go to plan.

The taxi ride from the airport went smoothly, once I’d gotten over the initial shock that I was now in Spain, and yes, they speak Spanish here, and yes, it is so fast that every sentence just sounds like one reaaallyy long word. I will never be quite sure what the taxi driver was talking about, but I think it was about a chica, who he thought was the love of his life, but had just dumped him. I got through the conversation with a lot of nodding, lots of empathetic ‘si, si’-ing, and the occasional ‘por que?’.

The first thing that didn’t quite go to plan happened straight away on Sunday evening. For the first week, I had booked to stay in one of the language school’s apartments, which is shared with other students. You go to a hostel to pick up the keys first, as it is open 24/7 and easier than someone having to meet every student that arrives, and then make your way to the flat. However, once I arrived at the hostel to pick the keys up, they weren’t there. The hostel said this was the only time they can remember that the school hadn’t dropped them off, but they hadn't given either of us had an emergency number to contact them on the weekends, nothing could be done until the office opened again the next morning. Fortunately, the hostel had a free bed that night so I wasn’t homeless, but it was extremely stressful, and not the start I’d hoped for. I had been planning on going for a wander that evening to find a restaurant for dinner. However, by the time everything was sorted I really wasn’t in the mood, and so instead of the paella I had been dreaming of, it was the cheese and pickle sandwich that was leftover from my packed lunch that morning. The room I stayed in was tiny and much too small for the 8 people that were sleeping there. The bunk beds were incredibly creaky, and the person on my top bunk had to be the one that got in at 3am and went to the toilet numerous times in the night, plus the other people in the room that were up and packing, without any consideration for the others, at 6am the same morning. All in all it was a forgettable first night, and it goes without saying that the hostel has nothing on the Wombat’s!!

I got a few funny looks when I rocked up to the language school on Monday morning with my huge suitcase in toe, but once I explained what had happened they were extremely apologetic and gave me a refund for the hostel without me having to ask, which was appreciated. Class that morning was a blur. I stuttered to introduce myself, and spent the rest of the time trying to work out where one word ended and the next began, so couldn’t even begin to think about actively participating.

After class, I moved into the apartment the school had provided. The positive is that it was only a 5 minute walk from the school and sharing with a Russian girl, who seemed very nice, although I didn’t see her much. The rest, unfortunately, wasn’t so great. The area it was in was a big shock to the system having been living on the most beautiful lake only 2 weeks before. The flat was old and cold (having to sleep with 2 duvets and the heater on was a far cry from the Mediterranean climate I'd been hoping for), and just didn’t feel like home at all. The next big disappointment came with my first apartment viewing that afternoon. I’d arranged to see this one first as it seemed like the perfect flat; a nice big room, spanish speaking housemates, and a 10 minute walk from work. The road it was down was very small, and I didn’t get a great vibe – lots of deserted and/or shut down shops. I met the landlady, and she showed me round the house, which looked nothing like it did on the website, as SHE HAD USED DIFFERENT PHOTOS. It was a lot smaller, less modern, and more cramped that I was expecting. The saving grace had to be how close it was to walk, so once she was finished showing me round, I did the walk to test it out. 10 minutes walking… nowhere to be found… 20 minutes walking… still no sign… after over half an hour of walking I was there. The problem, as I later realised, was that because of the grid layout of the city, google maps can find any street for you, but it has next to no idea where on that street the number actually is. As the house wasn’t near to any metro or bus station, that was too far from work to commit to, especially as I’d have to be walking it come rain or shine. Although I can put this into perspective now, the disappointment of that house was the straw that broke the camel’s back, as it were. As I was now back to step 1 of the apartment search, I suddenly realised how little time I had to find somewhere before the weekend when I would officially be homeless. This, coupled with my sleepless night and the stress of my inability to speak Spanish was not a great mix. Cue first meltdown.

For the rest of the afternoon, I didn’t move from my computer. I was scouring the internet for every possible room in Barcelona that met my criteria ; near to work and with Spanish speaking housemates, which I initially didn’t think was that big an ask in such a big city. I narrowed down the apartments as best I could, and got on with arranging apartment viewings for the rest of the week.

I had a quick reply from 1 apartment, and so went to see it at 9pm that evening. I can’t explain why, but as soon as I walked into the flat, I felt at home. It was just a gut instinct. The housemates were all Spanish speaking and we seemed to get on really well, it’s on the same road as work, the flat is cosy and the room was a nice size. The only problem was that the room wasn’t available until the 15^th March, which would mean being homeless for another 2 weeks after moving out of the language school apartment, and so I went home to sleep on it.

The next day, Tuesday, I struggled through the class again, and spent the afternoon running around Barcelona and visited 4 or 5 more apartments. Without internet on my phone, my home-made maps were serving me quite well until the very last apartment. I was running late, and very lost, so ended up taking a taxi to make it to the viewing on time. I told the landlord and he laughed, saying how British that was of me (!). Back at my apartment I was mulling over the pros and cons of each place, and realised that I wasn’t going to ‘click’ with anywhere else quite like I did the place I saw the previous evening. I decided it would be worth homelessness for another 2 weeks, and sent them an e-mail saying that I’d like to take the room, and crossed my fingers.

Wednesday followed much the same pattern. After spending so many hours on the internet, frantically running around Barcelona every afternoon, getting more and more frustrated with how difficult I was finding Spanish and not having heard back from the apartment I was pinning all my hopes on, the stress got to me again and it was meltdown number two. They did reply that evening though, saying that they thought we got on great and would like to have me live with them. I went to bed a much happier bunny, as now I just had to find a hostel or similar for the next 2 weeks, but could really start concentrating on the language, and even preparing for work the next week.

Thursday morning, however, was a different story. The apartment had e-mailed again overnight saying that they think they’d prefer to have someone for a longer period of time and so they weren’t sure it would work out. This time, the meltdown was massive. I had all the stresses of the previous meltdowns, plus the fact that it was now the day before I would be homeless, and I was just as near to finding a place to live as I had been when I arrived. That day I went to visit more and more apartments, becoming more and more frazzled as the day went on. I’d really set my heart on this apartment, especially after the e-mail the day before, and there were a lot of tears that day. As the stress has been building up, I did get overly upset, as in the new setting and situation, I wasn’t putting things into perspective as I would normally have done. I would also like to mention that the weather was doing nothing to help the situation. It had been rainy and miserable since I arrived – where’s the sun that I was promised Barcelona?! That evening, after a few emergency Skype calls, I put together a Plan B. I was going to have to compromise and so went for a flat that was still with Spanish speaking housemates, but in an ugly* area, and further away from work.

Friday threw another spanner in the works, as after e-mailing my Plan B apartment, Plan A e-mailed again to say that actually they do really want me to live with them, they don’t think the time span will be too big an issue, but could I wait until the weekend to give them time to discuss it properly as a flat. This was a big dilemma, as I had to move out the next morning and currently had nowhere to go, so really needed to know if I should check into a hostel for the next 2 weeks if they were going to say yes, or move straight into my Plan B flat if they were going to say no. I’d arranged to go for a coffee with a colleague from Zurich before starting work next week, and explained my predicament to her. Without even hesitating, she said that I should stay with her this weekend to give the flat time to decide, and if it was a yes then I could stay with her as long as I need, and if it was a no then she would drop me off at the Plan B flat after the weekend. After all the stress and ups and downs, I nearly cried when she said this (nearly – this must sound v dramatic!). She was so kind to open up her home to me, and she really got me out of a pickle! She said that if any of her children were abroad and in the same situation, she’d hope that someone would help them out as well, and I have definitely resolved to make an effort with the international students next year. And as an extra bonus, she and her family were planning on skiing in Andorra that weekend, which I was more than keen to get involved in!

On Friday evening, I was invited to drinks with the Plan B apartment. I went along as I figured that as living with them for the next 5 months was a real possibility, it would be a good idea to get to know them better. The night was enjoyable, and I got to practice a LOT of Spanish, before taking the last metro home at 2am. I still had a misgiving feeling in my stomach, especially as the guy mentioned that he and his girlfriend had been having a lot of issues (the flat was with a guy, his girlfriend, and another guy). I tried not to focus on those feelings too much, as it was now a 50/50 possibility that I would be living with them after the weekend!

So, after an extremelyyy long post (apologies), the week has ended a lot better than it started. I now have somewhere to go tomorrow morning, although the weekend will still be a waiting game until Plan A flat e-mails me with their decision. After the language course and all the apartment viewings, I can understand 1000x more Spanish than when I arrived on Sunday evening, and the sun is set to come out this weekend. There have been worse endings to a week I’m sure!

*When I say ‘ugly’, please bear in mind that I mean in relation to my previous locations. I’ve been incredibly spoilt so far on my YA. In Paris, I was living right in the centre of the 8^th arrondisement, which is a stunning area, just by L’Eglise de la Madeleine, and , of course, in one of the prettiest cities in the world. In Salzburg, I was surrounded by stunning mountains, and living on the lake where the white Von Trapp house from the Sound of Music is. I had far to fall!!

My room for the first week, which I was more than happy to see the back of!