Driving in Another Language - Challenges in Mallorca!

On the eve of 2014 my list of New Year's Resolutions included DRIVING LICENSE. I didn't elaborate and had I robbed someone else's I might have considered ticking that one off as done. 

But I didn't steal one, or fake one, and at the age of 32 I still can't drive. However, living on an island without the wonders of the London Underground, I have finally given my money over to the local driving school. 

Move aside novels, I have a new piece of literature to read, the excitingly titled "Manual del Alumno- Permiso B". It's fast paced in some areas, like the motorway, and fraught with potential danger, SLOW DOWN, Cattle Crossing! 

Even though I'm pretty fluent at Spanish, I could never write a book in my second language, which means I feel I have tons of room for improvement. At one point I entertained the idea of joining a Spanish literature class. NO NEED for that now! My Theory class is a perfect substitute, being choc full of strange, new vocabulary I'll probably never use... 

EG. Luces de galibo - end outline marker lights (Que?)

The teacher is as passionate about her subject as any literature professors might be about Shakespeare. Sometimes I get lost as she scribbles frantically on the black board in an alphabet that may not be of this planet, but usually discover that I'm not the only one.  

Classes for theory? You ask. Don't you just memorise the book? 

Perhaps I could. But I quite enjoy the routine of walking to my 5.30pm class Monday to Thursday, and hearing the book come to life! It forces me to leave the writing cave. If I have food in the fridge, I'm quite capable of not leaving the house all week, which is not good for my sanity. 

I'm apprehensive of the practical classes to come. But I was also nervous about going to my first theory class once too, and that was a complete waste of energy as it's not scary in the slightest. I'm just going to take it one step at a time. I keep telling myself, Even idiots can drive, so how hard can it be?

Spain vs England - 2 Months After the Big Move

My Spanish office has better views...

It has been nearly two months since I left London for Mallorca. 

To celebrate I'm going to compile an in depth, expertly researched list of the differences I've found so far. 

Brace yourselves. You'll want to take notes.  

1. SUMMER

Spain has one. 

2. GOING OUT

England: 

5 pm:  "So, what's the plan tonight?"

Spain: 

11.30 pm: "So, what's the plan tonight?"

3. DRINK MEASUREMENTS

4. VIRTUAL LAUGHTER

England: Hahahahahahaha

Spain: Jajajajajajajaja

5. SIESTA

England: a cheeky nap

Spain: an essential recharge activity so you can stay awake until suppertime

6. SHOPPING

England: shops open all day, all weekend

Spain: shops close between 1-5, Sundays closed* (*unless in a tourist area!)

7. DRIVING

England: left

Spain: right

(MY DAD: middle)

Enough of that list, any more simplistic and I'll be writing that they speak Spanish in Spain and English in England! They also speak Mallorquin here of course.  

Top Tip:

Don't tell someone from Mallorca that Mallorquin and Catalan are basically the same.

They might get the hump, and rightly so. It's much more different than I previously thought and I have trouble eavesdropping when they're speaking quickly to each other. Luckily for me and my husband Spanish seems more common where we are and we're settling in happily. 

I'm sorry London, I'm not missing you yet. I have a supply of Yorkshire Tea in my cupboard and my parents are coming over to visit in 10 days. My plan is to spend the week trying to convince them to move over to the island. 

Failing that, I might have to chuck their passports in the sea.... ahem, I mean, recycling bin. I'll let you know how that goes down with them!

To Worry or Not To Worry - Is it a choice?

It feels strange to set a novel in a place I've only ever been to once, let alone up sticks and move there!  With three weeks to go until we head off to Mallorca, I admit to feeling a little anxious. 

The longer the wait, the more time I have to wonder if we're mad to leave behind a thriving capital city in favour of a country whose economy has been in intensive care since the crisis of 2010. Then there are our beloved friends who support us when sober, then tell us not to go after a few drinks.

                

When I'm crushed between rucksacks and sweaty armpits on the rush hour tube, I get a thrill that it won't be for much longer. I close my eyes and dream of mountains and sea. I fantasize about rollerblading along Palma's promenade...  

                

Then I wonder if I'll feel isolated in a city where I know no one. I think how I'll need to learn to drive as soon as possible. I worry that in Spanish I'll mix my left and right and drive off a cliff. It's not even the language; I mix them up in English. Poor driving instructor, he had so much to live for.

                 

I think about jobs I've applied for and feel my stomach clenching as my comfort zone slip away into the distance.  

In moments of doubt, I turn to my trusty Eckhart Tolle book Stillness Speaks and open up on a random page. Today it reads:

               

              "What will be left of all the fearing and wanting associated with your problematic life situation that every day takes up most of your attention? A dash - one or two inches long, between the date of birth and date of death on your gravestone.

                To the egoic self, this is a depressing thought. To you, it is liberating."

               

From amazing-time.com

Crikey. Not as upbeat as I'd hoped. But I suppose it's putting all that worry into perspective. I've already spent too much of my life fretting over things that might never happen, or did happen and weren't worth the anxiety.  

We don't have much say over what life throws our way, but maybe we have a choice about how we deal with the present moment - the only moment we've really got. Remind me of this philosophy when I haven't found a job and I'm constructing elaborate sandcastles on the beach for spare change.  

                

We're not in danger of changing our minds about the move. Thanks to the wondrous eBay we sold our sofa and our bed on the Easter Weekend!  

                

To be honest, what makes me even more anxious than the thought of moving, is the thought of not moving.  Despite my fears, I'm hungry for adventure, eager to escape routine, determined that I'll look back one day and think:  my life might well be summed up on my gravestone as 'a dash', but it was a bloody brilliant dash...                

                

I'm rambling, aren't I? I'll stick the kettle on. Living in the moment is a great antidote to worry, but so is a cup of tea.

I wonder if tea will taste as good as Mallorca... Well, we can live in hope.  

The Big Move: Selling It All

I currently have six people watching my cupboard. They're not actually sitting in my bedroom waiting to see if it moves or anything, I've just put it on ebay.  

With 6 weeks left until we move to Spain, the pressure is mounting. It's time to sell the hardcore, heavy stuff. The 'collection only' items. 

It wasn't long ago we started buying things to make our rented flat more homely - a more stylish bed frame, a quality mattress, a sofa bed for guests - now we've got to find a way of recuperating some of the money.  

Every time I open a cupboard I find something big and heavy. I just came across the raclette oven we bought in a spirit of 'let's be more sociable and have friends over!' It probably weighs three times easyJet's luggage allowance.

"It's putting me off going," said the husband, this morning.

When I hear him worry, that's when I panic. He's a cool cucumber. All those things I would get into a flap about - upgrading phone contracts, switching energy providers, doing tax returns - he does all those things without breaking a sweat.    

"I'll sort it!" I said, hurriedly. "Leave the selling to me!"

I don't know how I'm going to shift all this stuff but I'm not letting a portable stone oven stop me going on an adventure!

Are we getting cold feet?

Yes. That's why we're moving to hotter climes.

Of course these next 6 weeks are going to be challenging, but if it were easy, everyone would be doing it, wouldn't they?

In the next blog post, I'll be worrying about giving up my income and saying goodbye to friends! Until then, thank you for reading!