In order to keep my mind off the horrifying political developments in this country, my mind wanders to the dream that keeps me going, Finca C'an Do.
We are often asked how complicated is it to buy property and move to Spain. Not so complicated, more taxing on the nerves. In order to purchase our finca in La Figuera, I applied for an NIE, a number assigned foreigners by the government. This I did through the embassy in San Francisco, showing proof of intent to purchase property. It can also be done at the local police station in Spain. A residency is another matter entirely. For now, all I need is the NIE, which has allowed us to purchase the property, have a bank account, and transact any business regarding the finca. Next step, a residency. In order to do that I need to have the following:
-Proof of income (a job, pension etc. A healthy savings account will probably also work, but the actual amount you need is likely to vary from place to place.)
-Proof of social security registration or private medical insurance
-Passport
-Finally if you are married and one of you will be dependent on the other, you will need your marriage certificate.
I have been working on multiple angles in order to show proof of income, namely my clothing business (sarasutton) and my artist site (saradochow). Both are coming along, and it is my fervent hope that these will, in a years time, suffice. Because, as far as pension and healthy savings go, when you are self-employed your entire life, and have raised three kids in the manner deemed necessary, such nuts do not exist.
The medical insurance issue, well, we have it, in a manner of speaking. We pay, out of our pocket, an astronomical sum for nothing. Such is the American way. Good luck, presidential candidates, fixing this monstrosity. The search is on for private health
insurance in Spain. And as far as social security is concerned, our meager amounts combined should pay for the basics, if we don't have a mortgage and mounting insurance costs to deal with.
A passport we both have. Unlike that pit bull with lipstick, Sarah Palin, I have had a passport since I was born. David recently was issued a new passport, to replace the expired one. It is an offensive document graphically, full of flag waving and patriotic jingoism, an embarrassment, a hideous display of red, white, and bullshit.
And finally, we are indeed married, and most certainly are dependent on each other, and have the certificate to prove it.
Nerves of steel are a must, or, as David puts it, be prepared to not blink. Our well permit seems to be hung up in semantics. We expressed a need for domestic water, but since the farm is deemed rustic property, Jeff had to scramble to rewrite as farm use water. We wait for that approval, fingers crossed, eyes straight ahead. And the local council is reviewing our plans for renovation of the casita as I write. Nerves of steel, something I never thought I possessed. But, hell, it's a game of chicken right now in the US of A. What a scary time. And Palin, what a scary woman. John McCain is sinister and cynical, Sarah Palin is just plain frightening, a real setback to the hard work of Lydia Chapin Taft and Susan B. Anthony. Guns don't make the woman.
