Mi Casa Española

One of the things that I worried about most when moving to Spain was having to secure a place of residence. The Navy gave me 30 days in which to accomplish this task. Now, to those of you who can’t appreciate Navy life, this might seem like plenty of time. Sadly, those days go by quickly when you have to start working two days after your arrival and you’re required to do your house hunting with sanctioned housing advisors whose appointment times are booked weeks in advance. Despite these obstacles I was able to see plenty of houses. I saw quaint apartments on the beach, rambling single-family homes with pools, I walked through quintessential Spanish houses with wine cellars and lemon trees in the backyard, toured townhouses with four floors.  I looked at places that used butane gas (known here as butano) for fuel, ones with “master” bedrooms the size of my old closet, and even visited one with central heat and air-conditioning (a real commodity here). I foresaw the difficulty of having a landlord who doesn’t speak English, tried to get my car into the smallest driveways known to man, and saw homes where my neighbors would be horses and donkeys. Mostly I was surprised at the shear size of the houses that I could afford. Surprisingly, though, instead of searching out the largest place my money could rent me I actually shied away from these behemoths and tried to look for more modest accommodations.  The last thing I needed was to have empty rooms that my credit card was itching to help me fill. I wanted to save that money… at least until the first travel opportunity came knocking on my door, wherever that door might be.

Thankfully, after three weeks, and a little undercover work on behalf of myself and my friend, I was able to find a place that I felt comfortable in. It wasn’t exactly what I had envisioned for myself when I first thought of my potential house in Spain; no tiled balconies or ceilings with exposed beams, no orange trees or Moorish style arches… but it does have a bidet, how much more European can you get? Instead I chose a home that came with an English speaking landlord, two air conditioners, window screens, and two full bathrooms. When did I become so sensible? Don’t worry; I don’t think that it’s contagious… or chronic. Just a random, acute attack of practicality. I should be back to my normal impractical self in no time.

I have been delaying putting pictures up of my place because, even after two full months of living here, I still don’t have everything the way I want it.  I really hoped to have everyone’s first look at my home be when it is at its best, but alas, as I’ve already mentioned, I procrastinate (or “procrastino” in Spanish- thank you, Arturo, for so graciously educating me). Instead of making all of you wait until the end of the year, which is my updated goal for finishing my decorating and what not, I have decided to put up some work-in-progress pictures and the before shots. Mind you, if bright, obnoxious paint colors bother you, you might want to skip ahead.  



The front door... see, no arches!





This picture doesn't do the paint color justice. Imagine fuschia and pale yellow.





And after! Much better, if I do say so myself.





Huge by Spanish standards... and yet, so much smaller than my kitchen in San Diego.





First floor bathroom. A.K.A. Guest bathroom.

The upstairs bathroom.

  

Master bedroom. There are no "after" pictures because I haven't started working on this room yet.

  

Guest room. What I like to call Barney purple and lime green. Gross.

 

After.



Did you really think I would let my fabulous guests sleep in a room the color of an obnoxious dinosaur?



Sunflower wallpaper... sad, really, because usually I love sunflowers but they're just ruined for me here.



 My office.



Like I said, most of these rooms are works-in-progress. Once I put the finishing touches (or do anything productive at all) on the rooms I’ll put up more pictures.