I started the day by informing our friendly estate agent [nope, still feels odd] that the man had once again not put in an appearance to fix our entrance door. He seemed genuinely depressed for us. However, on a much brighter note, he told me to be up at the house this morning between 9:00 AM and 10:00 AM when an electrician would (might?) turn up to fit our electricity meter and connect us to the supply with a fuse, for which I’d have to pay 20€. Good news! Off we set.

On approaching, we spotted a business card poked into the door frame of Casa from the aluminium man who, it seems, had turned up in the dark to try and fix our entrance door. Bother! I had maligned the poor fellow.

Anyway, sure enough, shortly after 9:30 AM a small white van turned up and our electrician zoomed off to the electricity supply cabinet in the under-build of our block. Readers may remember the fun and games, together with the occasional spot of profane Spanish, that had been involved in connecting us to the water supply. Thankfully, no such issues were involved in our electricity supply and we were very soon connected. Another job that we’d got done during the week was to have some lights fitted by a local electrician. Now we could test them. All but one worked. The extractor fan in the downstairs shower room also worked but the extractor fan in the upstairs bathroom remained silent. Still, our light-fitting friendly electrician will be returning to fit further lights and a heating/air-conditioning unit at some time in the near future. So, we should be able to get those two glitches sorted out then.

Even better news: whilst our electricity meter was being fitted, the aluminium man turned up and started working on our accursed entrance door. There is a God! [Nah, just kidding!!] He fitted a higher security lock barrel which, with the door open, seemed to work alright. He shut the door and fiddled with the lock again. For the second time this week I believe I heard a little invective in Spanish. The new lock now refused to work. Unwelcome feelings of déja vu swamped me. The new lock continued to refuse to work even after removing and refitting. Furthermore, the old temporary lock, once refitted, now steadfastly refused to work as well. Déja vu was now rampant. Our entrance door was clearly jinxed. Well, it is Friday 13th, I supposed.

Mr Aluminium asked if there was another way in. This question did not inspire confidence in a satisfactory outcome. “Only through the window from which we’d escaped a few days ago”, I replied. Mr. Aluminium had removed not only the lock barrel but also the entire multi-point locking mechanism a couple of times now. “How about a new locking mechanism?” I asked, using grunts and gestures. “Si”, he replied, muttering something further about Benissa [a local town] and treinta minutos [30 minutes]. Armed with the old locking mechanism, off he sped.

It was actually about an hour but he did eventually return with a new mechanism. At long last, once fitted along with the new security lock barrel, we finally seemed to have an entrance door that would lock and, most reassuringly, open again. Sighs of relief all around, especially from Francine and I but also from Mr Aluminium.

We now had a door that locked, a water supply and an electricity supply. Water and electricity were most exciting ‘cos we could now have our white goods delivered, fitted and tested. A swift trip to our friendly local supplier got us an arrangement to have them installed following the midday lull, at about 4:30 PM. [In Spain, the midday lull lasts until 4:00 PM.]

After lunch, we returned to Casa to wait. Another white van appeared bearing our fridge/freezer, dishwasher and washing machine. Two men, whistling happily, carried our goods in and fitted them. There was one small difficulty – we had two machines requiring a water connection but only one water supply point under the sink. As I zoomed off to get a couple of plumbing accessories to convert the single connection into two, Testing of the washing machine commenced. I returned with the plumbing accessories. Our washing machine had not worked properly. Well, it is Friday 13th, I supposed once again. No second machine of the same model was available – they’d have swapped it there and then if one had been. We began by saying we’d leave it until we returned in March but then thought better of it and decided to pop back down to the shop and see if another brand would suit. It would, for an additional 22€. The swap was arrange and our fearless fitters retuned at about 6:30 PM to swap the machines over. Our replacement machine seemed to work properly. Phew!

It was now 7:30 PM and I was ready for a drink. The day, our last in Spain for this trip, ended with a very a pleasant meal out with our friends without whom all this would have been considerably more difficult.

Following the advice we’d been given to “just change the lock on your door”, the saga continues. Yesterday an aluminium carpintera was supposedly turning up between 3:00 and 3:30 PM to fit a better security lock and make our entrance door [it’s the only door] work properly. He didn’t appear.

Our friendly estate agent [still can’t get used to that phrase] chased him and said he would come this evening between 6:00 and 6:30. I went and waited until 6:45 PM by which time it was raining and getting dark. Since we have no electricity I thought working in the dark would not be an option so I stopped waiting and returned to our friends in the local bar, somewhat disheartened.

The rest of the day had, however, been more productive. We had settled on a decision for our eventual main bed, one with a storage box beneath it so we had extra storage space in our otherwise limited area. We paid the deposit and it should be ready for delivery when we return in three weeks.

As we had hoped, the guest bed became available and was delivered and installed by a friendly local business, albeit English run. [We’ve been trying to use local Spanish businesses where possible.] Once the delivery man assembled the bed, Francine made the bed up with a probably-too-thin-for-this-time-of-year-even-in-Spain duvet – only 4.5 TOG. Still, the idea of this rather more rushed decision and delivery was that we would have a bed to collapse into – after a drink or three, of course – when we arrive late in the evening once we’ve driven down from Bilbao in the middle of March. Our delivery man also brought us a couple of space-saving 40cm wide bedside cabinets. You’ll notice the cabinets already have bedside lights mounted on them in the hope that an electricity supply may soon be available. In any event, Casa Libélule has it’s very first furnished room. Yay!! 😀

Now, if we could get that bloody entrance door sorted out …

This morning at 9:00 AM the man from the Ayuntamiento [town hall] was coming to fit our water meter to get the first of our services going. 9:00 AM turned out to be 9:30 AM , when he turned up, so we were clearly working on Spanish time. 😉

Each block of buildings has a couple of service lockers in the so-called under-build – like a basement. Our town hall man wandered down to the cabinet where all the water connections were located, He opened the door. I think his next utterance constituted something reasonably ripe in Spanish. There are five houses in our block and we are the first inhabitants. Therefore, in the cabinet there are five positions available for water meters to be connected to five sets of plumbing. Were the positions numbered to let anyone know to which of the five houses they related? No, of course not!

Our man instructed me with Spanish hand gestures to open a tap in our house. I did so. He connected the meter to position #1. No water appeared. He disconnected the meter and reconnected it to position #2. He turned the water supply on and this time water appeared. Unfortunately it appeared by squirting a forceful jet out of the cabinet and into our man’s face. More Spanish utterances followed, unsurprisingly. Our man wandered off to another block and appeared to raid a component from it to fit to ours. He tried again. This time no water shot out of the cabinet to hit Mr Townhall in his face but still no water flowed through our open tap.

And so we went on to positions #3 and #4. Now a thought occurred – maybe the supply into our house was somehow turned off? Mr Townhall went searching and eventually beckoned me downstairs to peer into the under-stairs cupboard where the hot water tank was situated. Also located in the cupboard were a stop cock to allow/prevent water flowin ginto the hot tank and also a main stopcock to control water flowing into the whole house. Ah ha! He turned the main stopcock on and we went back outside.

Still no water emerged from our open tap. Undaunted, Mr Townhall kept trying and finally, on the fifth position of the five available, water finally flowed from our kitchen tap. Relief!

Toilet cisterns [2] began filling. Water flowed from other taps and shower heads. At least now, if we were waiting for deliveries, we’d be able to have a pee. 😀

While we’ve been looking in furniture shops for dining room stuff and sofas, we were also on the look out for beds. Beds, it transpired, are a confusing issue. First of all, sizing. I am used to a standard double bed being 4’ 6” wide and 6’ long. At 6’ 1” myself, a standard double is not terribly appealing. A king size bed, at 5’ wide and 6’ 3” long is a much better prospect. Spanish bed sizes appeared to be very varied but the main ones to interest us were widths of 135cms or 150cms. 135cms is only 4’5” – too narrow for my tastes. the wider format could be either 150cms x 190cms or 150cms x 200cms. Technically, 150cms wide is equivalent to 4’ 11” – close enough. 190cms long is equivalent to almost 6’ 3” and 200cms long is equivalent to a luxurious 6’ 6”.

Spanish houses do not generally have very large bedrooms. There is usually a built in wardrobe and room for a bed with little else in the way of furniture. We’ve been using a 150cms x 190cms bed at our friends’ house and it is adequate. Measuring our intended bedroom in Casa Libélule, there might just be room for a 200cm-long bed. Tempting. We do, however, also have to address the even thornier issue of headboards. But first …

The normal Spanish design for a bed is a very basic frame of metal with utilitarian supporting legs. They look institutional, more like hospital beds than anything else. We were not impressed and they really didn’t appeal. In their favour, though, the space under the bed could well do for the storage of suitcases should we happen to be visited by friends. 😉

Our dining room supplier of choice, JYSK, had a more Danish design with a very pleasant wooden frame. This bed was quite low, though, and came with an integral headboard which was also very low – perhaps a bit too low for me. The curious thing about this option was that the bed frame was literally all you got; not only did you have to buy a mattress separately but the wooden slats jobby that sat inside the bed frame and supported the mattress was also a separate extra.

Next up we found bed bases that were similar to divan bases but the whole mattress support platform lifted up to reveal a storage box. That would be useful in a house with limited storage space. For some reason, though, although all the wardrobe doors we’ve encountered in Spain are pine, there were no pine coloured bed bases. Curious! We could go for a material finish, I suppose.

Most of the above would need to be ordered and delivered after we return in the middle of March. Thus, we’d be likely to be sleeping on our emergency airbed. There are worse fates but a real bed would be very much more pleasant after an 8-hour drive down from Bilbao.

There’s a little local shop in Jalón that sells, amongst other things, beds. They are, however, the traditional “institutional” design of bed, though there is one in the catalogue with a material finish which gives a much softer appearance. He seems to think that he could get us one before the end of this week. Our idea is to use get a 150cms x 190cms one of these and use it ourselves until we can find/order a more appropriate one, then move it up to the guest room. We’ve paid a deposit so fingers crossed that it comes. As well as a guest bed, it should buy us some thinking time.

Added to the bed frame choices, there was, of course a mattress decision to make. OK, it has to be firm but there’s the usual confusing array of foam, memory foam, combinations of foam, (posture) sprung, pocket sprung … the list goes on. Lying on mattresses in most shops is something that everybody does but which tells you very little. In this shop – a bit of a glory hole – there wasn’t really room, He did have in stock what appeared to be a very form foam/memory foam job for about 190€. We went for it. If it turns out to be less than ideal, we haven’t lost all that much.

Somewhat easier today, was spending yet another grand on white goods for Casa’s kitchen. Our favourite local lock-barrel-amending hardware store provided us with a fridge/freezer, washing machine and dishwasher. If we get electricity connected, we could get them delivered and connected at the end of the week. Otherwise.the middle of march is fine. Francine also had fun picking an iron and ironing board, a kettle, a toaster and, most importantly for Spain, an electric juicer for the oranges that cost all of 3€ for 5kgs. We took the small stuff but the ironing board will be delivered with the white goods.Even more excitingly, we were told to present ourselves at the Ayuntamiento [Town Hall] to sign the contract for our water supply. Tomorrow at 9:00 AM we should be getting a water meter fitted. Yay!!

It’s time there was a picture of the view from Casa’s balcony. Not bad, eh? :))

More progress!

Houses are strange, deceptive things. When you see even a large house simply marked out on its foundations, it looks quite small. Once a house is built, even a modestly sized one can look quite spacious when it is completely empty. Start filling it with furniture, though and the space rapidly shrinks to being potentially inadequate. Casa Libélule being a decidedly modest space, we are acutely aware that we need to select space efficient furniture.

Last week we had been very lucky when the first dining room furniture we had seen had proved instantly appealing to both of us and had been available in suitably modest sizes. Now Francine and I were off in search of sofas. We had measured and theorized and figured that we could just about manage two 2-seater settees if they didn’t exceed 2m each in length. There are two conflicting trends that I’ve noticed in the UK. Firstly, houses are being built ever smaller and secondly furniture seems to be being designed ever bigger. What madness is this? Anyway, we crossed our fingers and sallied forth to another furniture shop we’d been directed to in Calpe.

I hesitate to liken Aitana in Spain to Homebase in the UK, the latter carrying a large amount of substandard tat, but in terms of the range of types of items sold, imagining a Spanish Homebase will give you the idea. Just up the quality levels a bit. We wasted time rummaging around the hardware sections before finally finding our way down to the sofas and beds department. Here we were met by a delightfully helpful young lady who claimed to have just un poco Inglés; she was, of course, pretty damned fluent, fortunately for us. Francine explained that we were looking for two 2-seater sofas that were not too large.

The second or third sofa that we were shown appealed. It appealed even more when we realised that it came in at 1.60m long, saving us 40cms of manoeuvring room in our living space. With Francine hitting all of 5ft 3ins, several seating solutions, must be discounted because her feet don’t reach the floor. :)) Happily, not only was this sofa suitably short but it was suitably low, too. Francine looked comfortably seated. Pricing varied according to the material used to cover them, there being two ranges. The more expensive option used a leather-like material which we really liked and which would have looked good, we thought. Colour could be difficult, though, needing to avoid a clash with the wood of the dining suite, so our helpful assistant let us drive off with the material samples to check them against the display items where we had ordered our table and chairs. What a nice lady!

The colour was fine but, on our way back to Aitana, sense took hold and we decided to go for the cheaper material solution. This is a holiday home, after all, and the 300€ saving would buy a couple of very sexy modern LED lamps that we’d fallen in love with whilst on our trip. OK, so the sense was short lived. 😀

We placed our order for two 2-seaters that will hopefully be ready very soon after we return in the middle of March, delivery time being about 5-6 weeks, as usual.

One instinctively knows when something is correct. 😉 I was beginning to feel an uncommon run of good fortune in the shopping department.

When we signed on the dotted line to become new home owners in Spain, we were warned of two things:

1. the house was now uninsured and,
2. since various keys had been distributed to various agents, we should “just change the door lock”.

Once we had our Spanish bank account and funds were in place, we fixed #1 by buying an insurance policy.

In order to fix #2, I wandered into a local hardware store, happily one that spoke very good English, to see what could be done.

All the lock cylinders in Spain look the same. However, appearances can be deceptive. Blurred picture from crappy phone camera aside, this is what they look like. My helpful hardware store man disappeared into the back of his well stocked shop and eventually reappeared with three small cardboard boxes each containing a slightly different lock. “Take these and see which one fits, then bring the others back”, I was told. No money changed hands. Up to Casa Libélule I went.

The lock barrel is secured by a single screw which, once the door is open, becomes relatively obvious. I’d borrowed a couple of cross-headed screwdrivers from our hosts and removed the original cylinder – the one pictured above. Opening the new cylinders, one of the variations became perfectly obvious. Note the black tab roughly in the centre of the lock – this is the bit that turns, engages in a slot and (un)locks the door. The length of the metal to either side of this can vary; some locks were 30mm/30mm whilst others were 30mm/40mm. My original, as you can see, was 30mm/40mm. I rejected the two 30mm/30mm locks and fitted the 30mm/40mm lock. I inserted the key and turned it. Well, I turned it as far as it would go, which wasn’t very far. No good.

Back at the hardware store there was much head-scratching. Soon we noticed that not only do the cylinder dimensions vary but the length of that little black tag, the business end, varies also; some were long and some were short. My original contained a short tag but I’d been given one with a long tag, hence the key not turning. More boxes were furiously searched but to no avail. Undaunted, Mr hardware fired up a grindstone at the back of his shop and began grinding a long-tailed lock to a short-tailed lock. Back to Casa Libélule to try again.

Once again I removed the original lock and fitted my modified new lock. Once again, the key refused to turn very far. No good. Back to the hardware store.

More furious head scratching ensued together with more minute examination of the locks. Ah ha! Not only do the little black business end tags vary in length but they vary in thickness as well. Darwin, how can we make things so blasted complicated? The grindstone whirred again and Mr hardware soon returned with a second modification having ground some thickness away. Back to Casa Libélule for a third attempt.

As Francine watched, I removed the original lock once more and fitted my ground down new one. In went the key. With the door open, I turned the key. Amazing, it turned all the way and locking bars appeared. Yikes! I turned the key back again and the locking bars retracted. We were inside Casa. I shut the door and tried the lock in situ. It locked. I attempted to unlock the door. The key wouldn’t budge – not a single millimetre. I applied more force to the key. Nothing, nada, nichts! We were securely locked inside our new house with the right key but with a modified lock that steadfastly refused to unlock. Panic!

Now, Casa is half way up the side of a mountain. The back of the house, where the entrance door is located, is, of course, on ground level. There are two windows at the back, one either side of the door, which are at ground level. However, the Spanish, for security reasons, are fond of fitting ornate metal bars called rejas [mostly pronounced wreckers by Brits] to deter burglars. Unfortunately, these rejas also cut off any line of escape from inside the house by idiotic trapped owners. There are further windows and balconies moving towards the front of the property but, being on the side of a mountain, as you move forward the ground moves down alarmingly quickly and the drop rapidly becomes too great.

There was, however, one glimmer of hope. Since we had the foresight to purchase an end unit, we had a side kitchen window, sin rejas, relatively close to the back. Here, the drop was still distressing but there was just a chance that from it I might get my foot onto a parapet wall around some garden planting. I opened the window and, avoiding bending the stainless steel sink, got myself sitting on the window sill. I couldn’t quite reach the wall with my foot. I turned, grabbed the window frame with my hands and lowered myself so that I was leaning on the window sill with my forearms, legs dangling in midair. Oh to be an agile 16-year-old again. With a sigh of relief I got my foot onto the parapet wall and was out. Francine, however, was still inside and was probably too small/scared to try the same manoeuver. And who could blame her?

I wandered along and rang the caretaker’s doorbell. The caretaker was out but his wife, with no English, was in. My smart phone Google translate app now paid dividends. I muttered something unintelligible featuring the words: puerta [door], bloqueado [locked], mujer [wife] and escalera [ladder]. Miracles! Bless the lady, she seemed to understand. She grabbed a set of keys, unlocked another unit whose door actually worked and where a ladder lay across the floor. We returned to our fortress where Francine now sat, Puck-like, on our kitchen window sill too far above the ground for comfort. I positioned the escalera. Francine gingerly struggled onto the ladder and clambered down to the ground.

We were out. We were now the proud owners of a new house with a door that couldn’t be opened even with the correct key. Time to consult our friendly and helpful local estate agent.

After a smirk or two accompanied by a shocked look, our friendly estate agent consulted his next door neighbour who happened to be an aluminium carpinteria and who had just returned from another job. It was now 3:30 PM. Mr Carpinteria had not eaten lunch. I was instructed to return at 4:30 PM whereupon Mr Carpinteria would follow me up and try to break in.

He duly followed me. He tried to unlock the door in the time honoured fashion – from the outside with the key – and failed. He broke in through our favourite escape window and I began to hear a lot of loud banging noises from inside. The door jumped and rattled but remained fast. another 15 minutes or more of banging followed and, miracle of miracles, the door finally opened. My hero removed the offending lock and pulled faces at the modification, looking at me suspiciously. I shook my head and blamed the hardware merchant. My hero went on to fit a temporary lock and muttered something about jueves [Thursday] to do a proper fix.

“Just change the door lock”, they said. 😯

Francine and I are both keen on decent coffee and coffee at home in Spain is a bit of a thorny topic. Over our set of trips out house-and-dog-sitting, we’ve settled on a pre-packaged ground coffee rejoicing in the name of Bonka Natural (it’s actually Nestle’s) for use in a cafetière for long coffees. It’s nothing like as good as our roaster’s Continenetal blend at home but it does. However, an after lunch/dinner espresso is a trickier problem. We are lucky still to have a coffee roaster chez nous en Angleterre making a proper espresso machine a realistic prospect but the same is not true here. Our friends have solved their Spanish coffee problem with a Dolce Gusto machine.

Now, I have a strong objection in principle to the latest fad for coffee pod machines such as Dolce Gustos or Nespressos. The John Lewis store back at home is utterly littered with the blasted things. I object for two reasons. Firstly, though I am not particularly interested in saving the planet – all we’d be saving it for would be the planet-raping Chinese, after all – I generally dislike waste and there is a stupid amount of packaging waste associated with such machines involving plastic for the coffee pods and cardboard for the boxes of coffee pods. Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, I object to being locked in to a restricted choice of coffee as dictated by the large company marketers – I much prefer to have freedom of choice and to help keep the small independent coffee roasters in business with, let’s face it, a superior product.

There was, until recently, a third reason for my objection: hitherto my only brush with a Nespresso machine and it’s coffee pods produced what I considered to be indifferent results. Our first few days stating with our Dolce Gusto friends, however, produced what I thought were much more appealing results. Dangerous!

When we were scouting out Moraira to find our Spanish meatball, close to where the offices turned out be was a shop selling electric domestic appliances. In the window was a Dolce Gusto Piccolo machine – it looks more like a penguin than a coffee machine – with a price tag reading all of 29€. As an away from home solution to a decent espresso coffee, this was quite appealing. It proved too appealing; principle was discarded in favour of taste bud satisfaction as today we headed back to Moraira to make Casa Libélule’s first purchase.

Our hearts sank a little when we saw a different window arrangement with no Dolce Gusto machine in evidence. We went in to look around fearing that it was no longer available. Our fears were groundless, we found the machine on a shelf. The helpful German owner/assistant explained that, to get the machine at 29€ we had to buy four boxes of coffee pods, too. Alarm bells rang but again, our fears were groundless and the pods in this shop proved to be no more expensive than those in a supermarket, so all was well. We selected four boxes of various blends to experiment. We were further surprised to find that a fifth box of pods were “thrown in” with the machine for free. We left with a carrier bag of machine and five boxes of coffee pods.

With a boot load of coffee pods and machine, our next port of call was Calpe to investigate a furniture company we’d been told about. JYSK is, I think, a Danish company. We walked in an instantly fell in love with a dining table in their Royal Oak range. It seemed to be solid wood, which makes a nice change these days. The dining chairs were comfortable too. We need to be space-efficient and the display table looked too large but a helpful assistant pointed out that there was a smaller brother. Francine excitedly muttered, “no debate, I want it”. The range also had matching coffee table, TV unit and small 2-door sideboard/cupboard. Furthermore, all these items were on sale but only, our helpful assistant informed us, until Saturday – next week the price goes up to list price. We placed an order for Casa Libélule’s second purchase. We’ll pay the balance and arrange delivery when we return in March.

There goes another grand! 😀 Well, a little more but not very much more. The furniture is flat pack so I’ll have a serious construction job but needs must and we felt as though we’d got quite a bit for little more than a grand.

… is mainly mixed with rain.

Snow? Spain? Yes, amazing though it might sound, this morning we had a snow shower. Well, I suppose to be more accurate, it was sleet, the fluffy frozen stuff being mixed with precipitation of the unfrozen, liquid variety. The morning dawned very grey, the hills/mountains at the head of the valley disappeared and rain began falling. After a little while, the rain turned heavier and structure began to appear in it; structure which floated down rather more gently. The higher hills surrounding the valley have a light sprinkling of icing sugar on them.

The snow in Spain seems to be quite widespread. Our friends, whose house we are now looking after, drove seven hours across country through snow to begin a 3-day visit to Cordoba. We also heard of a ferry load of cars piling ashore in Santander and having problems getting stuck in snow.

Quick, put the house back on the market – I didn’t sign up for this. 😀

A few years ago, we were spending some February lunchtimes out on the veranda eating prawns with alioli. Much better!

Day 2 of officialdom.

We now had our NIE numbers and had managed to purchase a house. However, before we could do much else we needed to open a Spanish bank account. We have our house but it lacks both a water connection (and associated meter) or electricity (and associated meter). Signing up for both services requires a bank account because both services require direct debits to be set up. Opening a Spanish bank account requires passports and NIE numbers. It would also need an address so our helpful estate agent – yes, you heard me right: helpful estate agent – offered to meet us at 9:00 AM today at the local Correos [post office] to arrange a postal address.

Mr Estate Agent duly turned up at 9:00 AM. We had two options. First, we could make a one-off purchase a personal mail box and secure it to the back wall of a shed-like building at the bottom of our development along with countless others. Anyone could drop stuff in a mail box such as this – circulars etc. Alternatively, we could pay a yearly rental of 62€ for a post office box inside the post office. This seemed more secure and, perhaps, more official so that’s what we went for. This is a cash-only transaction so I handed over my 62€ in exchange for our mail box key. Though the actual post office counter is open only for 1½ hours daily between 9:00 AM and 10:30 AM, we’re told the mail boxes are accessible outside of those hours.

Now life got a bit more scary. Up ‘til now, during our brushes with Spanish officialdom we’d always been accompanied by a native Spanish speaker. Not so at the bank; we were dispatched all alone to go and open an account, though we were told that the nice men in the bank spoke English. And so they did. After a relatively short wait we approached a bank teller and told him we needed to open an account. More paperwork to sign, of course, passports to copy and NIE numbers to note after which we had a new account. I had a quick walk through of the Spanish online banking system – too quick for me to remember much and, of course, it was all in Spanish though apparently I can change the language later. Mr Bankman also wanted me to prove that my funds, when they arrived, were not coming from the Russian Mafia so I’d need to supply details of the accounts used to fund this new account. That could happen later by email.

Now armed with bank account details, our next stop was to the Town Hall to arrange for our water meter. Once again, and very necessarily, we were again in the company of our very helpful estate agent. [I really can’t get used to regarding an estate agent as helpful. How refreshing!] Communication here in Jalón is a little more complex by virtue of the fact that some folks speak Valencianan rather than Spanish/Castillian. we sat, once again, like bemused lemons, signing as required, as water services were ordered. Though we had a bank account, it still contained no money. Fortunately, whereas the Correos dealt only with cash, here I could pay the water meter charge of 850€ using a credit card. Future bills, however, would be by direct debit.

I wonder how long the fitting of the meter will take? Progress, nonetheless!

What we couldn’t yet do was request the electricity to be connected because that would cause an immediate direct debit to pay for the meter and we had no dosh in the bank. So, last important job of this day was to email our new bank account’s IBAN number to the international currency exchange company I’d been using and wait, with bated breath, for funds to arrive. This is always a heart-in-mouth job the first time; you only need to transpose a couple of digits to make what I assume would be an unholy mess of it. Fingers firmly crossed!

So, yesterday we’d managed to locate our Spanish meatball’s office after a considerable amount of effort. Today, we were to meet them for the first time and have a busy time in their company with our first brush with Spanish officialdom. First contact was at 9:15 AM so we left Jalón at 8:30 AM to drive to Moraira. We parked in the big car park again.

I may have succeeded in finding the meatball’s office but I hadn’t found the correct door in. The brown wooden thing that looked like a door on the left of the building was, indeed, a door but it was locked and was not the way in. The way in was actually a glass thing that looked a lot more like a window on the right of the building. The céntimos dropped, we opened the window and entered.

The receptionist was very pleasant and our meatball, a lady, proved very personable, too. It’s much easier doing expensive business with personable folks, I find. As a foreigner, it seems that you can’t do anything official in Spain without an NIE number, a non-national’s identification number. Our first order of business, therefore, was to be driven off to Dénia by an assistant for an appointment in our first  official office to get our NIEs. We hopped in his car and off we were whisked. We have very little Spanish and he had little English – it was going to be a quiet journey.

Dénia was heaving; cars were parked/abandoned everywhere – not a kerbstone went unobstructed. We pulled up outside an office and were asked to wait on the path while our escort parked the car. He returned having magically found somewhere to park/abandon ship and in we went. We went straight to our desk and attempted to look as if we knew what was going on while both sides of the desk exchanged Spanish. Occasionally we had to grunt a parental name before signing on the dotted line. After about 15 minutes of fascinating confusion, mostly as onlookers, we apparently had our NIEs.

Well, almost. The next thing our escort had to do was whizz off to the police station to get some signatures. He had stylishly abandoned ship on a corner of the road. We got back in and were whisked off again. This time he double parked, indicated the key left in the ignition by which, I assumed, that I was in charge should the car need to be moved, and walked off. back he came five minutes later and muttered “done”. We were now official. We returned to the meatball’s office in some style, with our driver making the occasional phone call with his right hand and changing gear with his left hand whilst leaving the steering wheel unattended – this is a left hand drive car, don’t forget, so his left arm had to reach across his body to reach the gear stick in the centre of the car. I thought it best not to volunteer to help.

Next up, complete with NIEs, was a 12:30 PM appointment with the notario in Teulada to sign the sale documents and become owners. Now, in most mainland European countries, life seems to revolve around notaries. How Britain manages to avoid them, Darwin knows. This time we were to follow our solicitor herself. Clearly, we needed the big guns and an assistant was not sufficient. She told us to look out for her blue Toyota RAV4 in the car park whereupon we should follow. The RAV4 turned up, we began to follow. The RAV4 shot off, we got stuck behind another car which in turn got stuck behind a cyclist out on a training ride having fun trudging up the coastal hills. The RAV4 disappeared. Fortunately, we knew Teulada a little and new where to go.

Once again we were bad “sit down” and something unknown happened for about 40 minutes. Our estate agent turned up. Eventually, we were shepherded in to another office, sat down and had a contract read out in English whilst being asked if we knew what we were doing. Following a couple of signatures by us and by the owning bank’s representative, our cheque for the balance disappeared across the table and the deed was done – we owned an as yet unusable Spanish house.

Clearly being a notario is good business. This one looked like Richard Geere and dressed like him, too, in some very impressive looking threads. Still, I suppose that you need to look decent if you’re going to swan about in a yellow Ferrari.

No backing out now!