Lost in Spain

Since a young boy I had always had an abnormal fascination with all things Spanish, I don't know if it stemmed from my bucket and spade holidays with the parents or the fact that Spanish men generally look like they belong on the catwalk, but whatever the reason I always knew that part of my life would be lived in Spain.I conveniently fell in love 12 months ago with Miguel, whom has the name suggests, is very much a Spaniard.

I met (well stole) Miguel through a mutual friend and from day one he seemed too good to be true. Not only was he gorgeous, intelligent and funny, he also satisfied my cravings for a Spanish fix.It was only a few months into the relationship that talks of us moving to Spain began, well maybe not talks but Miguel mentioning that he would only be staying in England for around a year and me strongly hinting that I wanted to live in Spain. Miguel finally took the hints and we started to plan our new life in Spain, my excitement rivalling Miguel's nerves.

I previously had 2 failed attempts at moving abroad, which is probably the reason why my friends and family took the news that I was "going again" with a pinch of salt. My first attempt was as a rep, which failed due to feeling like an OAP on a training course full of over zealous 18 year olds, I got as far as Luton. My second attempt was as a property sales executive, after 2 weeks of fabulous training in Marbella they sent me to Calabria in Italy. The nearest bar was a 2 hour drive. Enough said!

In April, a month before the big move, people's tune definitely started to change. I heard the phrase "I know that you are definitely going to stay this time" at least 30 times. Was I? I can honestly say that I wasn't so sure myself. I knew that I was madly in love with Miguel and I knew that I loved Spain, but I also knew that I am a skatty bastard and nothing is ever for certain.

On May 4th 2009, I sat in Manchester airport with the love of my life (sorry I will drop the sentiments in future blogs), I sat thinking what the hell am I doing (We had a 4 hour delay I had a lot of time to think, I would usually just drink)? I had bursts of excitement followed by bursts of complete and utter panic. I will never see my family! What about watching my niece grow up! Maybe this delay is trying to tell me something and I am meant to stay in England?

It is now only August, but already life in England feels like a life time away. It is shocking how much a country can change you as a person. Life in Spain is not the dream I had always pictured, my dream had always conveniently missed out the 40 hour working week, the fact that 40 degree heat is only enjoyable if your on the beach, the fact that living in a country where you are not fluent with the language is damn hard and the fact that it is impossible to find veggie sausage or a Linda McCartney burger.

Despite the Spanish life being worlds apart from my Dream, I wouldn't change it for all the veggie sausage in the world. Spain has a culture that fits well with my outlook on life, much more comfortably than England ever did. In 4 months I have never once felt threatened by scallys or anti-social behaviour, something that was a daily occurrence in Manchester. I no longer feel caught in the rat race with a pressure to climb the ladder, Spanish people are about love, life and family instead of salary, status and bank balance. Its a cliché but I now feel I work to live instead of the other way round.

So basically life in Spain is sweet, and now that I have introduced myself very briefly and explained why and how I am here in Spain I hope that you will enjoy reading my blog about a scatty English lad, lost in Spain.