On the road

Well, we are taking the plunge, a month in the Priorato. Our friends Cristina and Waldo from (Cal-Llop) have invited us to house sit the hotel while they are on vacation, from mid-January to mid-February. We jumped at the opportunity. The permit for the casita renovation is in hand, and we want to hammer out the details with Alex of Julex, the contractor. Cyrus is going with us, our resident architect, to offer perspective.Very exciting.We will have a month to truly get a sense of what it might be like to be there year round. The weather will be cold in the evening, fresh during the day (average 60 degrees with sun). An adventure. The wonderful Cristina said it reminded her of the Berlanga film Bienvenidos Mr. Marshall, and in particular the scene
(Americanos os Recibimos). Too funny.
Let the adventures begin!

Permits coming in!

Word from Jeff, the permits are in the hopper. We can legally renovate our casita, the 50 square meter wonder. The well permit awaits a final rubber stamp. But we are on the way to becoming farmers in the Spanish countryside.
Our friends Cristina and Waldo in Gratallops have offered us the use of their delightful hotel C'al Llop (cal-llop) from mid-January for one month, while the hotel is closed and they take vacation. A month in the Priorat! We are excited and nervous simultaneously. The litmus test. I adore Cristina. She's funny, smart, and full of life. She sent a greeting referencing the marvelous Spanish black and white film Bienvenido Mr. Marshall, "Americanos os Recibimos". Check it out!(Americanos os Recibimos)
Jeff sent images of a similar casita the contractor has been working on in nearby Vinebre. Overall looks good. Our month will be spent hammering out the details, and hopefully overseeing "groundbreaking". We are committed to this project, come hell or high water. The economic crisis only adds to the resolve to not become immobilized with fear. Slog on, that's the adventure of life.
We hope to also be poking around looking at townhouses. The "casita de campo" on Finca C'an Do will be just that, not a palatial Spanish country house. The system is casita in the country, townhouse in the village. Been that way for centuries. We have no interest in being "expatriates" but rather members of a community as it exists. Vamos a ver. Faith and patience.

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.

C'an Do Slide Show

A slide show of C'an Do and surroundings. Enjoy!

My lord, we just went to see Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Woody's neurosis gets on my nerves sometimes, amusing as he can be. What saved the movie, with delightful counterpoints of waspish coolness brought to the film by Rebecca Hall and Patricia Clarkson, were, without question, Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz. I hear Spanish spoken and I'm there, but articulated by these two and I am transported to a world of hope and possibility. My god, to be reincarnated as Penelope Cruz! She is fire without the brimstone, passion without the fear, unadulterated abandon. Of course, the Catalans are probably peeved that Woody cast Bardem, from the Canarias, as a Barcelona denizen, with all dialogue in Castellano. Así es la vida.
I truly dislike going to movie theaters, with the incessant yakking, concession crunching, dumbfounded lack of humor that permeates the room. And I thought the film lacked a little no se que, trying too hard at Truffaut or something. But Bardem and Cruz, standing in the street, wailing at each other full bore, was worth the pain. Que viva España!

(vickycristinabarcelona)

Still waiting

My cousin Michael knows how to do this blog thing. He lives in Thailand, a bonafide expatriate (weird word), as opposed to the wannabes we appear to be.
(ten minutes of peace)
Not much is happening at C'an Do, as we wait out the permit process. We know that the well permit is in the hopper, as our friends at Besó Paella, in Gratallops, were prepared to dig a well last month, as they seemed to have an inside scoop with the authorities in Falset. Being the practical impracticals that we are, the papers in hand seem crucial before plunking down thousands upon thousands of euros for liquid gold.
So we wait, while Jeff Greensmith does the leg work. Our hope is to be there in the next few months to hear the grinding of the equipment working its way towards the aquafir.
In the meantime, we drink Montsant wines, which have skyrocketed in price, and read unsettling articles in The Economist about wine speculators. On the one hand it makes you glad you have a slice of heaven. On the other you know the comodification will suck the soul out of the place. Money makes men mad!
(the economist)

How'd we get here?

Reminiscing today, while floating on the water watching independence day fireworks, about how we found our finca, the aptly named C'an Do. Two years ago this November, while visiting the young Cyrus, doing his semester abroad in Rome with Cornell, we hopped a plane to Barcelona, on a lark. Already the proud landowners on a piece of property in southern Spain (another blog :), we were searching around on the internet for something with more acreage and a ruin. For some reason possibilities popped up in Catalonia. And that is what took us to Barcelona, via Rome. From there we rented a car and headed to the Priorat, Gratallops specifically. Met Waldo and Cristina, Angel and Monse, toured crazy backwoods properties with various expat Brits turned real estate agents. Met Jeff, more than an expat. Stumbled upon C'an Do on a beautiful fall day in November, perfectly blue skies, fell in love with it, and here we are, awaiting permits to reclaim a marvelous 20 acres in the Montsant. Not sure what it was; the olive trees, the casita, the blue sky, the desire for a new perspective. This is the mystery, the stuff of dreams, the magic of life. It is a project that will test our patience, determination, and stamina. What we long for is a slice of heaven on earth, a place to build up, a treasure to leave the babies.