Becoming Citizens of Girona

We hired a car for a week towards the end of the season. Paid another visit to Jordi and family in Banyoles. They thoughtfully gave the girls some late birthday presents and even arranged for everyone to have a little horse riding session at the local stables that their youngest daughter attends. We all got taken for a fantastic Catalan meal in a busy, noisy, family-run restaurant. Jordi and Neus claimed it was just an average eating place but we were really impressed. This was followed by a walk around the beautiful lakes then we were all off to Besalu for a medieval festival. Besalu is a an exquisite, walled town only accessible by a beautiful, ancient bridge. It was a fantastic day.

Before we returned the car, we also visited a few beach resorts and went back to our favourite ones. We spent time with Jonathan, Yolanda and their kids. They gave lots of advice as they also had relocated to Girona. We knew that the time was coming to knuckle-down, find work, get registered for medical services, schools, local authorities plus sort out a few other bits and pieces. Peter and I also had to continue with our language studies so we needed to get that ball rolling as well.

So, hence the reason that time has lapsed since my last posting. As summer turned gently and slowly to autumn, we went about the business of becoming citizens of Girona. We were warned about the paperwork but I never anticipated the seemingly endless queuing and waiting around. We began to accept that nothing was straight forward and sometimes a bit stressful. It became a little private joke between Peter and I as we found out that we had to make an appointment for a meeting which simply turned out to be a meeting to make an appointment to have another meeting before you got anywhere near the objective you were hoping to achieve.

For instance, on our first visit to our local Cap Salut (medical centre) we were told we would have to have an initial consultation with our general doctors. In Spain, the adults have their own general doctor and the children see a separate, dedicated pediatrician as you don't get one GP for the whole family like you do in the UK. Anyway, I think we turned up a number of times expecting to see our doctors at the medical centre, only to be met with another form to be completed or an official interview. Nevertheless, once everything was in order, all the necessary paper work obtained and all the hoops jumped through we finally got to be seen by the medical personnel. Everyone in the family has since had a full medical and us adults have been given thorough blood-tests and screenings (all clear and healthy!). I thought we would need to sign up for private medical care but the system appears to be efficient, fantastic and free. Referrals mean a wait for your appointment unless it is an emergency but you do get seen eventually. You do pay for your optician and dental services but this has become normal in the UK now anyway. You do pay for your prescriptions (even for children) but when you show your medical card you get a discount. I've been told that it is normal to have an annual check-up and well-woman 'things' are screened very regularly which is something that was not so available at home in the UK. I think we have certain entitlements as members of the European Union. It may change but my experience has been fairly positive so far.

Certain members of staff (i.e. one or two of the doctor's receptionists, some other administrative staff and technicians) were rather intolerant and unhelpful but I also found this within the cash-strapped NHS. I don't think the civil/health service jobs are that well-paid here so I guess it is understandable. The national minimum wage is currently only 570.60 euros a month! I suppose this is why you don't always find shop assistants too helpful either. In balance, though, we have been generally happy as the service we receive is neither over-the-top or too terrible - just simply normal. I don't know if this is particular to this region but I'm told that people are more outgoing in Madrid. As we are both Londoners I think we would find enthusiastic, overly friendly shop assistants/waiters/bus drivers/public sector workers etc. a bit intrusive so we are quite comfortable with how we are generally treated whilst going about our daily business.

Neither of our excellent doctors speak English (and why should they?) but I may try to change to ones that do because we often have to drag along kind friends to help with translation (in either Catalan or Spanish). I think it will be a while before we can master medical terminology in a second language! People have been so helpful. We actually met one of these kind souls who approached us in the Waiting Room as we flipped through our phrase books. She was waiting for an appointment herself but asked if we needed some help so we immediately hauled her in front of the doctor with us. Poor girl, she had only met us five minute before and now here she was repeating our full medical history in Catalan! Turns out that Saskia (who is Dutch) and her fiance, Dave (who is another English ex-pat.) have since become good friends which is fortunate since Saskia had a crash course in getting to know us! They work in the tourism industry and their office happens to be in the same street in which we live.

Registering with the Generalitat (town hall) and other administrative offices was smoothed with the assistance and experience of Yolanda. Many others have come to our aid. The schools administration was another big hurdle and we will never forget both Yolanda's help and that of Gisela who attended a very stressful interview with us. More of this later in another posting.

Finally, I would just like to dedicate this entry to all those of you who are reading this and have held our hands along the way. A really big, fat MUCHAS GRACIAS for all your support, guidance and time in helping us to settle into our new life here in Girona. It means so much and is so appreciated. Bless you everyone! KARMA!

The Chicken

Sitting by the pool one day (not our pool, remember, but the municipal one in the park), I promised the kids a real, roast chicken. All the cooking equipment had not yet arrived from the UK but I thought I could manage a chicken dinner without too much trouble. I had been down to the street market and bought some more kitchen stuff to do some real cooking.

I thought it would be a simple start although Peter and I have been drooling over Catalan cookbooks in the same way some couples get excited about sex manuals. Catalan food is renowned for being the best in Spain. Exquisite, innovative dishes inspired by the mountains, the sea and the wonderful ingredients available locally. More exciting fare, I decided, would be attempted later. Right now, it was too hot and I was too unfamiliar with the oven to spend a great deal of time in the kitchen (and, alright I admit it, I was feeling a bit lazy).

We like discovering supermarkets in other countries. We always visit them wherever we are. Some tourists head for museums and churches, others the beaches or the mountains but whatever else is on the agenda we do seem drawn to check out the supermarkets. How else to find out more about the people who live there? The sights, the smells, the interesting packing and even the people working there all give an indication of the eating habits and lifestyles. For instance, our local supermarket here in Girona has the most massive fresh fish counter and just a small aisle dedicated to the sale of meat and poultry. This is something you would not find in the UK where fresh fish counters are paid lip-service if at all. You can peruse shelves and shelves of different kinds of olives instead of whole rows of packaged, processed snacks and you can also choose from a wide variety of tomatoes, in tins, cartons, jars, plastic packets rather than a selection of 'cook-in' sauces.

Here, people shop at different times to what we are used to. You will jostle for space and wait in a long queue to pay at say, about 8.30 in the evening (they call that afternoon here) but can get around, in and out quickly on a saturday at lunchtime which is unheard of in the UK when this is one of the busiest times to shop. So far, there are no store loyalty cards, they do not accept cheques, nobody is available to help you pack your shopping and as far as long opening hours go, just forget it. Once that supermarket shuts at around 9pm you will not be able to purchase anything you need until it opens again at about nine the next opening day. So, if it is a sunday or a public holiday you will be out of luck and have to go without as there are no small, convenience stores open either. Some supermarkets even close for lunch! How do they expect to make a profit and shift their stock? Do they care? I just don't know!

We have been caught out when we didn't realise there was a public holiday and had nothing in the house - we learned our lesson. You just need to be stocked up and prepared or go out to eat which is a lot more accessible and cheaper here. It was a bit strange for us at first coming from a land of customer service and convenience. Perhaps in the tourist season on the coast it may be different but here it seems to be acceptable. There does not seem the need and people shop when it suits the stores not the other way around.

So, back to my story. Peter was dispatched to the supermarket to find the chicken and he returned with the styrofoam, cling-filmed wrapped raw chicken. It was plucked and packed just like one you would get from a UK supermarket so I felt confident that I could just prepare it and stick in the oven whilst I got on with the potatoes.

As I unwrapped the cling-film, leaving the bird on it's foam tray, I peeked up it's bottom and instead finding a little plastic bag of giblets inside, I realised that the innards were intact. I hesitated, this means that I would have to gut the thing but as this is a procedure I have never before performed, I was not sure where to start. OK, right, where do I go from here? I felt like an inexperienced surgeon suddenly left in charge of a major operation. Looked around the kitchen for an appropriate tool but all I could find was a dessert spoon and I wished I'd had some plastic gloves. Oh dear, do I abandon the plans for dinner tonight and cook something else? "No, come on Deb" I said, giving myself a good talking to "when in Rome, do as the Romans". Well, if this is how uncooked chickens come and everybody else copes with it here then I must get on with it. I faced my nemesis, armed with the spoon, I looked it straight in the back-side and thought "well, here goes". As I lifted the chicken from it's tray with my bare hands something really horrible happened. A wobbly head suddenly dangled out from underneath, it's scrawny neck, full beak and dead eyes releasing itself from where it had been tucked away and hiding but worst still, I was holding it! I screeched, dropped the carcass in surprise and Peter rushed into the kitchen to find out what was going on. This was a uncooked chicken but not as he knew it and so backed off not wanting to get too near. Wondering if I had a knife sharp enough to cut the head off, I quickly changed my mind when I realised I had no idea how. "I can't handle this, can't you do it?" I appealed to him. "Don't look at me, I don't know what to do with it" he said, looking worried. "Yeah, but your mother grew up on a farm in Poland, you must have seen her deal with dead chickens", I reasoned. "Well, not in the kitchen in London where we grew up, I didn't and even if she did, I wasn't paying attention". A long-shot I know, but it was worth a try but he wasn't having any of it and would not be coming to my rescue.

Perhaps I should consult a neighbour but I felt such an incapable twit. In my entire life of buying chicken from supermarkets have I never seen poultry sold in its more natural state (or perhaps I have, but averted my eyes). I have been so accustomed to food cleaned, prepared and presented in a benign, sterile form which is actually a million miles away from how it started off (before it found it's way to my fridge). How reassuring to know that there are processes that happen to take away the nasty bits and how pathetic I was when confronted with anything different from what I had only known. Anyway, I'd had enough and somehow we didn't fancy chicken for dinner anymore, "I think chicken is off" I informed the family and so we had a pizza instead.

Later on, I offered the chicken (after all it was still fresh) to my Catalan friend, Gisela, figuring that she would be able to use it but she turned her nose up disgustedly and said "no thanks". She has also never gutted a chicken or chopped off it's head and had no intention doing so now. Turns out that Peter had bought a 'pollo entero' which means an intact/entire chicken (although you couldn't see that when it was packed to be sold) and some people prefer to buy their chickens this way to use the less palatable parts for cooking other delicacies. Gisela advised me that we should go to the butcher just like everyone else does and ask for a cleaned chicken which means we will get one just like we did at home. Ah well, you live and learn!

Our place and our kids

It was just pure luck that we happened upon our rented apartment where we now live. As I mentioned, it is the same apartment we rented as a holiday home last year when we were on a reconnaissance trip over the summer holidays. We found it on the internet and got into negotiations with the landlord, David. He has since proved to be a helpful friend and a valuable contact for information. It also just so happens that the area we landed, Devesa Park, is considered a very desirable place to live.

It makes me smile when we say we live in Spain and people in the UK imagine us situated in a white-washed pueblo (village). In fact, where we are is more like an uptown, residential area of New York. Here you will find no houses only modern blocks of low rise flats where people are quite happy bringing up their families and making use of the infracstruture available. Our supermarket is so near that we have even wheeled the shopping trolley across the road, into our block and up into the lift to unload it in our flat and then return it later to collect our euro out of the trolley slot! Only once our eldest got stuck in the lift when she couldn't reach the buttons on the lift because her arms could not stretch across the trolley to the control panel and we all panicked like mad as she was in the lift on her own. Fortunately, a neighbour came to our rescue and Kasia emerged tearful but relieved.

A five minute walk away brings you into the centre of Devesa park which is not unlike St. James Park in London (abound with London Plain trees) and a fantastic, outdoor swimming facility. The Devesa Park pool is large (plus there a paddling sized one) and is surrounded by tall trees and green grass. Sun-beds are provided. It is guarded by swimming pool attendants from the Red Cross (Cruz Roja) and for some strange reason, a few bored-looking security guards (looks like job creation to me!). The local library set up a book stall/newspaper stand in the shade, with things to do for children like drawing and the occasional story-telling. There is also a little kiosk for drinks, snacks and sandwiches. Unfortunately, it closes down for the Autumn and Winter. We were there on the last day it was open in September (we had become regular visitors for a small fee) and all the life-guards and security officers threw themselves into the pool in full uniform and looked like they were having a right laugh.

On Saturdays and Tuesdays the park comes alive with the local market where most things you need can be found from clothes, kitchen equipment, linens and fruit & vegetables amongst lots of other stuff. The prices are aimed at the locals so it is a lot cheaper than the markets you find on the Costas. Once, when I was there with the kids, we saw an elderly couple (perhaps a farmer and his wife) just sitting there with a plastic crate containing two quiet, docile rabbits. I had to explain to the children that I didn't think they were being sold as pets!

The flat is light, open-plan and spacious. It does not have any outside space so there is no balcony or terrace which I find frustrating and difficult having being used to houses with gardens. I hanker for growing things, being able to nip outside with a coffee whenever I feel 'cabin-fever' coming on and of course, we would love to keep pets again. Although I don't know if we will ever have ponies and chickens in our garden again. Peter and I have not lived in flats since our single, childless days. We worry about being too noisy whilst also being aware of the other residents daily lives as we hear them going about their business. What tempers this is the fact that it so well situated that it is a bit like living in a Chelsea flat with the best of everything more or less in easy, walking distance.

The summer of 2005 last year, was when we had sold our house and decided to spend the whole summer holidays having a bit of a break but more importantly looking for somewhere to settle down the following year. We had decided on Girona as our base as it was near the airport and pretty central to the rest of Catalonia. We never thought for a moment that this was the place we would want to make our home. Much of our time over those five weeks was spent driving around and visiting different towns and villages. We didn't think we wanted to move into a city (having escaped London nine years before to move to the country) but there was something about Girona that made us think again.

Girona is a small city. It has it's modern, residential and commercial side but is also has a very old district with a very ancient history which is very evident away from the thriving (albeit compact) metropolis. A certain amount of regeneration has brought the city back to life (especially the old town) and what you find will touch you forever. Think Barcelona but without the crime, beggars and crowds. The people are generally well presented; the young with attitude and the older generation with sophistication. The children are beautifully dressed and adored. Smart, expensive, shiny cars jostle for parking spaces and every other person seems to be walking a pedigree pooch. Poodle palours and pet shops are as obvious as estate agents are in the UK (but there also seems to be a lot of estate agents here as well - guess there is an international real estate virus!). It is one of the wealthiest cities in Spain with wages/house prices above the national average and it shows. The police never look that busy, the streets are generally clean and people appear to go about their business safely night or day.

You can wander down dark, cobblestoned alleyways, meander your way under beautiful archways , zig-zag numerous bridges and get yourself lost but feel reasonably secure. All your senses are alerted to the extraordinary experience of this unique city and it is quite exquisite as one surprise unfolds itself after another. But, it is the people of Girona that won our hearts for it is they that make the city into the special place it is. Not just born and bred Catalans but the like-minded folk from other nations who have come under her strange spell. I also found out that Girona has more shops per capita than anywhere else in Spain so I knew there must have been a very good reason why I was drawn here!

Our visits to the inland towns and villages away from Girona were interesting but uncomfortable in that we felt we seemed to 'stand-out'. We are obviously a Northern European family and we seemed to attract attention. In Girona we may get a second glance but nobody pays us much more notice after that. We have discovered that English families living in Girona are not that common so we do feel a little exotic! Perhaps that is why people have been so helpful, interested and open to us.

We were determined not to go live in a coastal resort where it would be people-logged in the Summer and souless in the Winter. We also wanted our kids to be part of the natural community, to learn Catalan and Spanish. We want them to grow up having a sense of belonging to the country they were living in. We didn't want them to be English kids growing up in a community of just other foreign kids and having only friends from Germany, Belgium, UK and Holland etc. I had previously spent time talking to many ex-pat. families who lived on the coast. I was told that their children tended to have friends just from the UK and other nations rather than Catalans (who tended to keep to themselves on the Costa Brava). I thought this was sad because whilst we wanted our children to be citizens of the world, make as many friends as possible and be exposed to diversity, we want them to also have a strong identity with the country that was now their home. Of course, we understand they will always be the 'English Girls' in the Catalan community but we know they will be welcomed and embraced as we have been since we got here. Once they have a handle on the language and are speaking with a local accent, they will blend in seamlessly to enjoy the life that all the children do here with all the wonderful opportunities the region affords.

We fully intend to continue reminding them of their English heritage and also their Polish/Irish roots which makes for a very rich cultural mix in which to thrive and develop. I will take it upon myself to make sure that their level of English meets the grade so it will be extra homework with Mummy and lots of English books to read over the next few years. Plus Daddy is an official English language teacher!

That's your opinion you may say, but what do your children think? Which is a very good question.

Well, firstly, this is something that has been talked about for many years in our house. We first came to Catalonia when they were just tiny toddlers and fell in love with it then. They have grown up hearing Mummy & Daddy trying to learn Spanish and passing on a few words to them. It was never a concept that was suddenly introduced but something that was always on the horizon so it was no surprise when we decided to take the plunge.

We had our long holiday here last year and talked all the time about how we would be back to live. They had their lovely, summer fun on the beach and local pool but we also took them up to the hills and mountains and historical old towns with spooky gothic quarters, medieval streets, churches, museums and lively festivals to see what else there was to offer in the country.

The hardest thing for them was to accept that they would have to leave their school and their friends. They are very young (six and eight years) and had not completely settled into their peer groups by the time we left the UK. We knew that if we left it another five years they would hate us for moving them and find the experience a lot harder once they had become used to the British way of life, their friends and all it entailed. It was sad leaving the school, but we had already left the home they had known, gone into a rented house in anticipation of the move and spent the whole of last year talking and looking forward to moving abroad. Most of our family live in London and as they did not see them everyday there was no separation anxiety for grandparents and other relatives who we know will pay us visits and we will spend time with them during summer, christmas holidays etc. when we go back to the UK. My beloved Grandmother, who the girls were close to, passed away earlier this year. I also have to mention the family dog, Sassie who we lost last Christmas. Aunts and uncles are always in touch via calls, emails and occasional cards & presents. A few family members live in other countries too. Good friends keep in touch.

As it is, they are really excited about learning the language and try at every opportunity. We could be sitting around a square having coffee and they will quickly be off with a bunch of kids, playing games with no inhibitions about not being able to speak each others' languages. They have a very positive attitude and have already found life more fun and interesting since we have been here because there is simply so much more to do. The days are longer and tend to be more clement even though we are now approaching Autumn. We are out and about much more and they can go just about anywhere with us as they are welcome in shops, bars and restaurants at anytime. At the moment our girls are very much into what we all do together and this is just one big family adventure for them. They simply want to join in on everything that goes on and be with us as much as possible which is so lovely. I am under no illusion that this will change when the hormones kick in so we are making the most of it while it lasts!

We have new bikes and roller blades and there are playgrounds on every corner plus the beautiful park nearby. The winter beckons with the anticipation of snowy times, skiing trips and ice skating only an hour away.

As my eldest daughter told me, "I'm sad to leave England but happy to live in Spain". My youngest still talks about her old friends like they just live around the corner and would love to see them again but does not seem to pine for them but she is the sort of child who takes everything in her stride.

They are naturally nervous about starting a new school as are us parents. They will be going right into the deep end. This is something we have all yet to face along with many other issues before we reach our comfort zone. We accept it as part of the transition although this not always easy.

We feel that Catalonia is a great place to bring up our off-spring and the lifesyle was more appropriate for us. It just happens to suit us better than life did in England. This is our very considered choice and we are glad we have made it. We feel that Spain is generally more child-friendly.

It makes me really annoyed that the UK is generally considered intolerant of children when most Mums & Dads I know enjoy spending time with their families and ensuring their kids have a fulfilled, happy life. It is not British parenting (who are the most caring, wonderful parents) but life, as it is, in the UK . We want our children to have more freedom but because of the English weather, fear of the unknown child molester and the other multiple threats that torture our imaginations, we tend to keep our kids close. These fears must play on the mind of good parents everywhere but it feels more intensive in the UK. The Spanish attitude appears more relaxed but no less watchful. Growing up in Britain means long, dark winters and more exposure to television, computer, advertising etc. which allows the media to try and turn our children into mini-consumers and lots of parents feel under pressure to keep up. Evenings mean that children are not generally accepted in eating places unless they are somewhere awful like McDonalds or other chain pub/restaurants that specialise in mega-menus of microwaved food. Plus it has to be a occasional treat because a night out with the kids ends up costing more than a return flight to Paris especially in big cities like London or Manchester! English parents are there for their children 24/7. They strive so hard to balance everything. It is these loving, switched-on parents who have to cope the system, perceived political correctness and certain negative attitudes. The watchful welfare state has its pluses and minuses. The high cost of living in the UK means that many parents have to work hard to provide all the things they want for their children which is tough on family life.

In some ways it's the same here in this expensive part of Spain. Working parents are also great jugglers and plate-spinners! Catalan parents do seem to have a lot of back-up from willing, devoted grandparents and I envy them that resource. After school at 5pm in Spain means running from here, there and everywhere packing in as much extra sports, language lessons, dancing classes and as many activities as possible. There are skiing and outdoor pursuits clubs that take the children up to the mountains for a days' tuition at the weekends. Things like riding or music lessons are so much more available and affordable. Swimming clubs and Summer camps are common and you do get to wonder if some Spanish parents just don't get to spend enough quality time with their kids because leisure time is just so busy with the extra-curricular commitments.

The attitude of society is simply different here in Spain. You do not have to wealthy to have a good life. You may not have a top of the range car, the latest gadgets and expensive holidays but at least you get to have a long lunch with kids in the sunshine (every day if you want to). Children are considered a blessing and a stroke of very good fortune. It basically boils down to the fact that they are actually very respected here which is why people seem to have more time for them. Bringing up the little darlings is hard enough so it is great to be cut some slack sometimes. This really does make life easier when you go out as a family.

When we were in the supermarket our six-year old took a tumble and burst into tears. The shop assistants jumped so fast and they were all over her in seconds, picking her up and placating her in concerned tones even though I was there standing right next to her. Ladies quickly fish into their handbags to give a sweet to a passing child. It seems perfectly acceptable to kiss and cuddle children in distress even if you do not know them. People shout 'Gaupa' pretty girl or 'Gaupo' pretty boy across the street just because they think your kid looks cute.

Nevertheless, do not think that this is a totally child-tolerant country. Being out late on a school-night is frowned upon and whilst they are welcome in most places they must be well behaved. Believe you me, naughty children get just as much tutting, short-shrift and grim looks here.

I guess it does not matter where or who you are in the world. However your environment affects your life whether you are a North American Indian, a Tibetan nomad, a London housewife, high-powered executive or whatever, the fundamental truth is that we all love our kids, want the best for them. We all just want to make our lives better and be content.

We really are all the same aren't we?

The first days...

I love my sleep (let us call her Senora Sleep as we are in Spain). Senora Sleep I have come to know is a beautiful, elusive phenomena that now only decides to grace me when she see fit. The older I get the more grateful I am for her when she benevolently smothers me with her slumber stuff. As a child and young adult I do not remember her being so precious. I went to bed and went to sleep until whatever time I was woken up or drifted to a conscious state (which I now know is the privilege of unresponsible youth).

Since the uncomfortable sleeplessness of pregnancy (I swear it is Mother Nature getting you into training for the time ahead!) and the arrival of new babies I have never really enjoyed the quality of sleep I once did! Now, the children are of school age and I am not in a constant state of nocturnal alert. Nevertheless, I feel I am especially punished for eating too late, having one too many drinks, too much caffiene and stress which does not endear me to our flighty Senora.

I just hate the way I she cajoles me to bed as I nearly nod off on the sofa with no regard for marital relations and I collapse in an exhausted, grateful stupor. Senora Sleep quickly carries me, very willingly down to carefree, comatose place only to pop me up to the surface of awareness within a couple of hours (just like a deep sea diver out of air) to face a long, wide awake but tired night ahead. I guess I am going to take some time to settle into a new routine.

Senora Sleep did actually came through for us all in our first days in Girona, but my sleep bank was very depleted so I felt like I could not quite catch up in those first, few days. Children and men sleep on demand, the cares and worries of the day seem to leave them as soon as their heads hit the pillow. My family were not so much on the drag as I was.

A friend, Karen, arrived for a holiday a few days after we did. Being in the teaching profession this suited her best as it was the start of the Summer holidays. We were still a bit zombified and reeling from the experience but we tried to not let is show (after all moving house is stressful enough let alone a completely new country as well). She very kindly and generously turned up with a hire car knowing that this was something we had not yet sorted out. Unfortunately, as Peter and I were still climatizing and a bit dozy so we couldn't quite remember our way in and out of Girona which was very frustating for her whenever we tried to help her with directions!

It was important and reassuring for the kids to see an a familiar face and as the girls both have an August birthday Karen was as thoughtful as always turning up with presents despite the current embargo on hand luggage.

One trip to the beach with me, Karen and kids (plus Gisela's little girl) resulted in me falling into a much needed sleep on the sunbed and a sunburnt back. Fortunately Karen had loads of energy to keep the kids occupied in the sea - didn't know she had it in her!

So, unpacking began. Realised I didn't have my bag which contained my support kit of medicines, vitamins, aromatherapy oils, expensive cosmetics and jewellery pieces that I had collected. Blamed Peter - because he managed not to lose his special things like computer bits, camaras, shaver, the kettle etc. I was just annoyed and jealous because he had all his precious goodies and somehow had not managed to watch out for mine! Boys always look after their own toys and I was just as cross with myself as with him for not taking enough care of my stuff but I had to take it out on someone!

Karen drove us to the house of the Davies family so we could catch up with them. Here is a lovely family who we came to know when we stayed in Girona last year. Jonathan and Yolanda have four great kids and they are all making a life in Girona. Of course, they are a mine of information and have proved to be incredibly helpful. The children all have very English accents (it is the language spoken at home even though Mum & Dad are fluent in Spanish). We came away with loads of useful advice that should help us become citizens of Girona!

Jordi invited us all to the sports centre in Banyoles where people can sunbathe by the lake and take a dip. This place was developed for part of the Barcelona Olympics (rowing etc.). It is the lake district of Catalonia and incredibly beautiful. A near perfect place to live. So we were all very privileged to go his house in the hills above Banyoles for Sunday lunch afterwards.

The Sanjuan family have the most wonderful house that they designed themselves. Simple and discreet from the front but built to accommodate the hill and spectacular views from the rear. Very Scandinavian influenced (like something out of an Ikea brochure but with the sun). Cool, light and quite sublime.

The children loved the plunge pool and the seated hammock that ran across the whole sun terrace on a track. Us grown-ups admired the well-kept vegetable garden! Things we could only hope to grow in a green-house back in the UK flourished in the back garden. Produce like little oranges and fat figs were ripe for picking. The herbs, juicy tomatoes and green salads had us drooling with anticipation as some had already been picked for our lunch.

Neus and Jordi have two smashing, happy, well-adjusted teenage daughters, Clara (who came to stay with us in Suffolk) and Julia who is completely devoted to horseriding. They were just so funny and entertaining and our two little girls fell madly in love with them. Clara and Julia were both so kind and had so much time for the little kids. I am sure they would have been happier doing much more interesting things but didn't seem to mind!

At this time there had been a terrible drought in the area. From the Jordi and Neus's house we which watched the amazing site of tiny bi-planes dropping bombs of water over the forest fires in the hills beyond. The pilots had scooped the water from the lakes and bravely flown over dangerous areas where the flames had gone out of control.

While everyone relaxed after lunch in the garden, I gave Neus a relaxing, reflexology treatment. She works very hard as a social worker and had looked after us all so well I wanted to give something back by way of a thank you. I had to rustle up my best physical Spanish to describe my findings but mostly did this by pointing to the parts of my own body to explain!

So, Karen said goodbye as she was going back to the UK but on to Switzerland to see some other friends.

The Foremski Family started to look forward to their new life in Girona.

Well here we are !

Finally arrived at the little airport of Girona pushing what seemed like two tons of luggage. Nodded goodbye and bidded Polish salutations to the the Ryanair steward (who seemed like a very nice boy and happened to be Polish) as we staggered, overloaded off the tarmac. He waved back with a look of complete relief to see the back of us. I think it was the fact that we had bought £16.00 pounds stirling worth of snacks and drinks on board but the kids wanted to pay for it with their piggy-bank money (which, to be fair, I had instructed them to use up before we landed). Anyway, they counted every penny carefully into his hand in coppers which I don't think he appreciated on such a busy flight!

So, there is another tip! Use up all that loose change before you leave the country because it can get quite heavy, you know!

Thanks to our long, holiday in Girona last year we had made so many wonderful Catalan friends and many other contacts. We were bowled over by the emails and 'phone calls we received with offers to pick us up from the airport. Three Catalan families had very kindly offered to meet us. At first, we were reluctant to be a bother or an inconvenience and did not want to put anyone out (which is just so utterly English of us) saying we could get a taxi but our new friends were insistent and not wanting to be inpolite we fired off our flight and arrival details.

So, who, we wondered would be waiting for us on the other side of the gate? With the welcoming party in mind, I quickly nipped into the loos to try and look presentable while Peter and the girls monitored the carousel for our bags. A neon-lit, washed out, pale and pasty hag stared back at me in the mirror and I realised that I needed more than a quick fix (backed up with at least 48 hours of solid sleep) so I decided not to bother - besides I didn't need reminding of the extra two bags I was carrying on my face. I'd seen enough luggage! So, with the triumphant bravado of successful escapees, we trundled through the arrival gates with our loaded trollies with appropriately expectant expressions set in place to meet...
exactly, NO ONE!

We didn't recognise a face, no message, no sign, NADA! Ho hum! shall we wait? shall we 'phone but who? Just as we were contemplating getting a cab, Jordi of Banyoles bounded up to us with his lovely, welcoming smile looking like Summer in his Hawaiian shirt, flip-flops and sporting a rock starish (I'm thinking Eric Clapton - get the picture?) half growth of beard we hadn't seen before. He began embracing Peter and I enthusiastically and brandishing apologies in broken English for being late. He bowed very low respectfully and gently shook the hands of our girls who he had not met before. Huh, I thought, don't worry about being late - you haven't got to know us well yet - we think being on time is the height of bad manners. Let's hope for our sakes this is the Catalan attitude because we simply can't seem to do punctual.

We had come to know Jordi (a very Catalan name) earlier this summer when he had carefully delivered his beloved elder daughter, Clara into our care so she could improve her English. Anyway, as we exited the airport, the rest of Jordi's family were all hiding and jumped out to surprise us all. Their two cars were waiting to deliver us to our apartment. Lots of hugs, kisses and delight for our girls, Kasia & Margaux at seeing the lovely Clara again and a chance for us to meet her Mum, Neus and Julia her younger sister who we had heard so much about.

On arriving at our new home for at least the next year, everyone jumped out of the cars and took our bags up in the lift so it was nice to have some porters for change! David, our landlord was there to meet us. We had stayed in this apartment last Summer and when we were looking for somewhere to live this year the same place had become available again so David offered it to us on a long term let. He obviously felt confident about having us back so we must have behaved ourselves last year! He had already sorted out the internet, 'phones and cable for us so he gave Pete a quick intro. before saying goodbye as he was going on holiday the next day.

Everyone was saying how hot it had been and uncomfortable but the weather had been so extraordinarily unusual at home in the UK that I felt we had mutual understanding of just how hot & humid it had been and us Brits had already become climatised. After all, the Britain is a little island in the middle of the North Sea so when it gets really hot it gets really heavy!

Anyway, when we opened the door to the flat we couldn't believe it! It had been festooned in bunting and loads of balloons! The girls were thrilled and rushed around the rooms checking it all out! Plus the fridge and cupboards had been filled with food, drink including beers and wine. The gorgeous Gisela (who lives in the flat downstairs with her little girl Lola and who we met last year) had spent her lunch hour with Neus stocking up the kitchen and decorating the flat for us. We didn't even ask for supplies to be provided and we were gobsmacked at their kindness. Gisela was still at work but caught up with us later only to be completely insulted when we offered to pay for the shopping (muttering something about it being not the Catalan way to even think about it!) Bless her heart!

So quick drinks all round, lots of chats, laughs and muchas, muchas gracias from us to everyone who then thoughtfully left us to rest with promises of parties and get-togethers in the near future.

The girls climbed into their bunk beds that they had known so well from the year before. Peter and I tried to stay up to have our own little celebration but overwhelmed with tiredness we both collapsed into a deep sleep instead. We didn't even notice that the bed had not yet been made up but I think we would have just as happily zonked-out on a washing line that night.

Well, here we are in our new home. At long last we had arrived.

Nearly there...

With the stress of our major exodus from the UK fresh in our minds we arrive in Girona. Two worn-out parents fast approaching middle age and feeling the strain plus two very excited little girls. The physical, emotional and mental challenge (not to mention financial) of actually lifting our lives up and out of England and plonking everyone down again (via Ryanair) in a new country is not wasted on us at this stage. No doubt more challenges will present themselves to us which we will share with you as they arise.

The run up to the move had snowballed out of control as we began to run out of time. Whilst not being the most organised people on earth we had managed to store a few pieces of furniture we felt were worth keeping and prepare a load to be shipped in the not too distant. With the help of my wonderful mother we managed to clean the house we had been staying in and leave it in reasonably good order.

What we had not realised was just how much stuff/crap we had accumulated over our lifetimes and what couldn't be traded on ebay or at carboot sales was given away to friends, family, charities and, in the end, literally anyone who just happened to be passing. Hard and sometimes painful decisions had to be made and I've just had to get over the separation anxiety! It was a case of " we can't move it, store it or have it, so just go take it!!" To think these things I have coveted, cherished and enjoyed were now just gone.

Whilst we had prepared for this trip years in advance (trying to learn a new language, talking, thinking about moving abroad plus a few reconnaissance trips) we had done little to start breaking down our belongings and we learnt the hard way. Typically of us, we also had to cram in distracting things we always meant to do in the past but had never not got round to. Things like study courses, check ups, catching up with people etc. because it dawned on us that we would not be around to do them in the future. All this and continuing to work as much as possible with the knowledge that our income was going to drop dramatically. Of course the regular demands of family life didn't make preparations easy either.

Believe it or not we even had to fit in a trip to Boston which I had won in a competition. It was a case of lose it or use it which was extremely nice but the last thing we needed at this stage - Yes, I know it sounds a little churlish and ungrateful but just goes to show you should plan for any eventuality! So, a tip for all you future relocators - If you can, plan the move with exacting precision years in advance of your leave date and have everything in order well before D-Day.

It has been a cathartic experience and it was not lost on me that at this very same time there were the families in Lebanon who were leaving their bombed homes with very little in the way of possessions. Of course, our upheaval was a voluntary and positive one, not the enormously fearful experience of these people so it has been a humbling one for us also.

Despite packing our luggage and thinning it down over and over to what we thought was just the necessary we were still charged for extra weight on our checked-in luggage which is easy to do with Ryanair. As my husband had insisted we use our hand luggage allowance to the full limit we ended up looking like refugees with rather more than we could handle (we didn't know it yet but we were to lose one item of hand luggage and neither of us can think where we left it). We had to be pretty inventive with our carry-on stuff and it took some convincing of UK airport security that our five year old really does need a holdall carrying a kettle, an apple mac and hair straighteners!!

We were not overly popular with the holiday makers on our packed-out flight as we hogged all the overhead storage space! Since our arrival in Girona a security upgrade at airports and banning of hand luggage has meant we wouldn't have even got on the flight with our very good impression of a bunch of sherpas! I know my bad back, stretched arms and frayed nerves would have appreciated this new ruling.

It was strange on that flight out of Stansted. There was all that delicious "we are all going on a summer holiday" feeling bubbling in the climatised, cabin air and there we were, our little family with our one way tickets. I felt secretly smug that we wouldn't be returning to the UK in a couple of weeks with that "the holiday is over, we've blown all our dosh and have to get back to work with just a suntan to show for it" feeling which I know so well. Actually, what's ahead of us is far more scary, tough even, but also new, exciting and wonderful.