The Journey to Spain

So, to resume our relocation story, by May 2011, we had found a place to live on the costa brava in Spain. Now all we needed to do was pack up, move over and start our new life. Pha! Easy.

Arranging to have our stuff shipped over wasn't difficult but it does take a few weeks and obviously we couldn't be without all our stuff for that time. Apart from anything, my husband depends on his computer equipment for work. And the car needed to get to Spain too. It's quite a long drive (about 15 hours non-stop.) So, we decided that my husband would drive the car over with the bare necessities and I would fly over with the children, just turned one and nearly 3. A 1 year old and a 2 year old. I must have been crazy but in reality there wasn't much choice.

We spent our last weekend in the UK with my lovely sister in Bristol and she kindly got up at the crack of dawn to drive us to the airport. Arrived at the airport to find the most enormous queue you have ever seen. Oh pants, I wish I had left more time. The gate to Girona is about half a kilometer away which is no small feat for a 2 year old (1 year old in the buggy).

Finally we arrived at the gate, which was at the bottom of a huge flight of stairs. And we were definitely the last people to arrive. By some miracle the ryanair lady was lovely to us even though by this time everything had been taken out of my beautifully packed hand luggage. Perhaps she could sense desperation as I battled with the buggy, the luggage and 2 small children. Or perhaps she didn't really work for ryanair. Who knows, we made it in one piece onto the plane. And survived the plane journey, just.

So far so good. However, my plans for what to do at the other end where a bit shaky. My husband wouldn't be able to collect us as he would only just have arrived at the house and wouldn't have had time to unpack the car. I'd spent hours on the internet looking for a direct route from the airport to Palafrugell but with no luck. Either I would have to spend a small fortune on a taxi (sensible option) or catch a bus into Girona and then one to Palafrugell (not sure exactly of time but it couldn't be that bad, it's only a 45 minute drive in the car.)

Arrive at airport, next bus in 10 minutes. Decision made, we hop onto bus and an hour later arrive in Girona. Children beginning to get a bit tired and hungry and thirsty (we've lost our water somewhere along the way).

Right, so where's the bus station? Oh, I'm in the queue for the train station and the bus station is next door. Trundle next door. The next bus is when? In 2 hours? And it takes another hour to get there? By now, I'm beginning to loose it too.

Decide to take taxi and phone husband to tell him. He's with the estate agent who tells me to take a train to Fleca and get a taxi from there, it'll be far cheaper.

OK, get to wrong platform, get to right platform. Train arrives, with a ginormous step up to the carriage. I'm about to cry but somehow manage to hulk buggy and 2 children onto train before the doors close and train pulls away.

Survive train journey, get taxi and even manage to direct him to house. Hooray, we made it and it's only just lunch time. The start of our new life. Within minutes the traumas of the journey were fading and by the afternoon we were on the beach, which we had all to ourselves.

Bienvenido a Espana.

Not that there will be a next time that I emigrate to Spain, but if there were, I'd splash out on a taxi.