So here I am sitting on our terrace in the Spanish Alpujarras with the late afternoon sun on my face, and I’m just so filled with gratitude. Mad dashes to hospitals and crazy life challenges already feel like a lifetime away… but I thought you might enjoy what went down when I landed into Spain to claim our new home… just over 2 weeks ago!
Due to our flat not selling as we’d hoped… and My Gorgeous Man’s emergency surgery, I was having to leave MGM and Sir Maxelot behind in Scotland. It was a lot harder than I thought it was going be. Through all the rough and tumble of the last few months, we were both in need of ‘me’ space… we had even been joking about what a relief it would be.
For two and a half weeks, MGM would have our great big, comfy sofa, complete control of the remote control, super fast, strong internet and the company of our beloved, unsociable greyhound… and have the space to tie up many of the loose ends needed to close up our Scottish life. And I would move into our new Spanish home, get everything established and have the joy of the mountains and the company of my dear friend Jo Beth Young as I ran my first two Channelling Love Retreats.
I would be setting up Spanish base camp.
But when MGM dropped me off at Edinburgh airport… I got all girly and teary and had a great big lump in my throat. What made it worse was that we’d not had a good morning as we’d packed up the next stage of our life and flat. We were supposed to have been moving to Spain, happy and together. Not like this at all. Nope. Nope. Nope.
On the other hand… and ever the optimist…
I was still very excited to be going!
Inside the terminal I dropped off my bag that was within a whisper of the maximum limit, and then I got completely and utterly scanned, x-rayed, undressed, searched, unpacked, questioned and swabbed at security. I blame it on the mix of my big pouch of crystals, recording equipment, vitamins and all the contents of my Goddess Office that I’d been able to miraculously stuff into my wheelie bag.
Freed and re-assembled, I headed straight for the bar. But the bar was absolutely chocka and I just didn’t have the energy to push through and stand there alone like ‘billy no mates’ with a large glass of vino blanco.
So, I got a meal deal from Superdrug, scrounged some space on a bench and speed read through a very trashy newspaper instead.
By the time I landed at Gatwick, all my emotional and physical knackeredness was kicking off and in. I felt like I’d been pulled through a hedge backwards, forwards, and sideways. I felt sick, excited, terrified, upset, wiped out and just about everything that wasn’t peace and love. It turned out that my friend, J, had had a similarly tumultuous day, so we headed straight to M&S in the terminal to get some supplies in for our room at the budget Airport Inn.
It shows you how knackered we were, when we only got a quarter bottle each.
Tired of dragging our suitcases (which felt like the dead weight of our entire life’s possessions) around the terminal we said “F*ck it,” to finding the elusive courtesy hotel bus stop and treated ourselves to a taxi. And within a few minutes we had a plastic keycard in our hands… then we were marvelling at the towel swans on our beds… making Wonder Woman changes into PJs… emptying our quarter bottles of bubbles into the mugs and taking turns to spew out our day’s traumas.
And everything began to feel so much better.
Because that’s what true friends and soul sisters are for.
The alarm went off at an ungodly hour the next morning, not that long after our verbal diarrhoea had actually calmed down… and we dragged our bags and asses downstairs and dragged our bags and asses onto the bus… dragged our bags and asses along escalators and dragged our bags and asses to the check-in that’s no longer called check-in. It’s all drop off… except not… because my friend had a guitar with her… and that had to make it’s own sacred journey through outsized baggage. Now you wouldn’t think that any of this would be difficult. But what made it all very interesting was that my friend was completely and utterly, legally drugged up to her eyeballs with super duper tranquillisers in order for her to even step on to our waiting plane. So, for all intents and purposes, her body was there, but she most definitely was not. She was zombieville on legs.
Amazingly when I’d done the online check the day before, our separate, independent bookings had been seated together.
I mean, c’mon, that is sheer magical Universal support, if ever there was!
So I did feel that everything was going to flow with ease… and hey presto it did. J managed to get on the plane without freaking out, she got a bit tangled up and confused with her seat belt… but travelling with an ex-HotHostie with 23 years flying experience, has its advantages. I even remembered where the exits were and I very much enjoyed rebelling and not watching the pre-flight briefing.
The flight was full… but fine.
The woman on the aisle opposite was a constant source of entertainment as she shifted through image changes, clothing options, beany on and beany off. We had our sandwiches and crisps and as J had requested nonstop distraction and chats… that’s what we did. For two and a half hours. I kind of felt sorry for anyone around us. Our random chats ranged from “You’ll never believe what happened” to full on ‘spookywuwu’ and “I wonder what it’s going to be like when we get there.”
J was blessed. She was on drugs.
And I didn’t really want to admit that I was nervous about the car rental and finding our way out of Malaga. But we had our best friend Google all lined up on my mobile… so what could possibly go wrong?
For a start, at the car hire desk everything was going great until the subject of insurance came up. I was under strict instructions from My Gorgeous Man NOT to be frightened into taking out the fully comprehensive option.
“It’s not necessary” he told me. “You don’t need it… it’s a scam!”
Funnily enough J’s Dad had said exactly the same thing when she left for the airport too. But when that very nice lady behind the desk, who looked so honest, helpful and trusting, said that I wouldn’t be covered for any damage and I wouldn’t have any roadside assistance… my resolve broke and another couple of hundred quid was added to my credit card.
I felt sheepish and done over. J was kind of coming out of zombieville and did her best to make me feel better. I felt sick to my stomach. Anyway… we dragged our asses and bags around the terminal… down the ramp… along the lower level garage with row upon row of rental cars and could we frigging find parking place number 77 where our dinky car was waiting for us? Nope. It should have been so easy.
But it wasn’t.
And then we found it.
It was a doh moment that neither of us want to mention again.
Spookily, the number 77 is a very positive and significant number for me, so all things considered, we were off to a good start. Turns out it’s J’s lucky number too. And MGM is also a 7 man, so the Universe really was stacking up the good stuff for us.
We took our time packing up our dinky, minuscule car, which took some figuring out with a large, awkward shaped guitar case along with solid suitcases, wheelies, bags et all… but eventually I got in behind the wheel. I took some more time to figure out left from right, indicators, wipers, lights and all the usual essentials… and then there was no putting it off. I was going to have to drive.
Put the “Google Be-atch on,” … and… “Wagons roll!”
I should just add that calling Google Maps the ‘Google Be-atch’ is a term of endearment. When we were in France she took us down many a tiny road that no car should ever go down… and which had us swearing our heads off… at her… but at the end of the day, she always got us to where we wanted to go. We love her, really.
So, driving out of the car park, the Google Be-atch roared into action, took us around a couple of roundabouts and onto a very busy and fast dual carriage way.
And then the Be-atch froze.
J’s state of zombieville was prevailing and I could see her struggling to compute. There was nothing for it but to keep on driving and hope that the Google Be-atch caught up with us.
But she didn’t.
J did an amazing job of forcing her brain into full action and fired up her own Google Be-atch… and we both sighed a sigh of relief as she told us to keep going in the direction we’d found ourselves going in. But when we weren’t commanded to turn off towards Granada, we knew there was something very wrong.
What also felt ‘wrong’ was the fact that Spanish drivers just don’t give way and they drive right up your frikking ass. My enforced zen, was very forced. I would guess that J was secretly very relieved that her horse strength tranquillisers hadn’t fully worn off.
It turned out that J’s Google Be-atch was programmed to avoid motorways and before we knew it, we were heading into the frenzy of Torremolinos. And I heart stoppingly discovered that our minuscule car’s brakes, were very, very soft and very, very slow indeed.
Much more zen was needed than anticipated.
There was nothing for it, but to take control. I defied J’s Google B and went fully round the next roundabout and headed back towards the airport. J managed to reboot my Google B and we warmly welcomed her back into our lives… especially when she told us where to go… and it made sense.
The motorway was extremely busy and within our first half hour, we drove past 2 crashes that had blocked off lanes. J and I were consciously breathing very deeply and saying “Everything’s fine!” in very high pitched voices.
Thankfully, as we left the city behind, the traffic eased and I made friends with our minuscule car and we settled in for the drive up into The Alpujarras. Turning off the motorway about an hour later towards Orgiva was very exciting… and I then had a momentous wave of hugest appreciation for MGM’s driving back in June. Windy mountain roads. It was very different to city driving… and the number of cars up my ass was proof of it.
We rocked into Orgiva in third gear at around 4pm.
We had about an hour before meeting our Angel Agent to take possession of the keys to our new home. I had no idea if I would be asked for more rent, cash, bank details, or have to pay for October that we had had to cancel. I had no idea if I would even be able to understand him. Perhaps it had all been a fluke back in June. Or perhaps he wouldn’t even show up. So J and I went for one of those iced lattes to die for and hit the sugar boost, hard. And at 5pm almost on the dot… there he was, opening the door to his office that we were keeping an eye on from our overloaded sugar station.
OMG, how I loved and thanked the Universe in those next moments.
He smiled, shook our hands, asked after our flight and said he would take us straight to the house. Rent could be sorted out tomorrow morning! Wow!
“Let’s go!” he said… “Follow me and I’ll take you there!” So we did!
We managed to find each other in our respective cars on the other side of the town square and off we went.
Around the back of Orgiva, along a windy, single track, with the mountains lit up by the lowering sun and orange trees lining the way. We pulled in through the gates, up past more orange trees, rose bushes and morning glory flowers adorning the fences… and then, there she was. The owner Rosa was outside the house with a great big welcoming smile… and a basket of fruit from the gardens, milk, water… and bottle of red wine in the fridge. We were overwhelmed.
“See you tomorrow!” the Angel Agent waved as he left and then Rosa happily handed over the keys and headed back down to her house below.
And that was it.
I had moved us to Spain.
The house was ours.
No problems. No complications. No fuss.
Just trust, ease and flow.
I couldn’t quite believe it.
As soon as they left, J and I cracked open our celebratory bottle of bubbles and proceeded to happily glug it back as the sun went down. And then we cracked open another bottle as the stars shone out from the clear night sky. And we finished that one too. What a day.
Oh how I wished MGM and Sir Maxelot were with us… I already missed them. And as I glanced up into the heavens a massive shooting star glittered its way across the sky.
Wow. Thank you Universe!
Once again you’ve given us a sign, that moving to the Alpujarras is absolutely, without a doubt… the right move for us… and the place for us to call home.
In my next instalment I’ll be sharing what went down during my first 2 weeks here… it’s not what you’d expect!
PS. And this is why I’m now sooooo glad I was railroaded into the hire car fully comp insurance with roadside assistance. A totally flat tyre… with a bestie who knows how to change one… and a brand new replacement car on the way.
Once again, the Universe knew best.
More on this story next time!