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.