When Living Abroad Starts Feeling Like Living in America

I could have easily been in a neighborhood pub back home in Chicago. Armed with two guiri friends and a stomach that hadn’t eaten all day, I ordered a cheeseburger meal, piled on the ketchup and sat down on a couch, directly under drapes of spider webs. It was Halloween, and one my friends mentioned that – gasp! – another American friend of ours had had trick-or-treaters the night before in her pueblo.

De verdad? Since when does the oh-so-racio Seville feel just like America?


Slowly, Americana has been permeating into a city as Spanish as the tortilla. At first, I embraced the introduction of peanut butter onto supermarket shelves (and willingly forked over 7€ for it) and made special trips to Madrid for international cuisine. Eight years on, I’m feeling like I’m in a parallel universe sometimes as craft beer, Netflix and my favorite holiday are becoming mainstream, albeit jabbered on about in Spanish.

I’ve long been the guiri who drags her heels when it comes to embracing my culture while living in another. I famously chastised my friends for shopping at the American food store and have yet to set foot in Costco. I do not regularly catch baseball or American football games in bars, nor could I tell you the best place to watch one. Yes, I cook Thanksgiving for my in-laws with American products and dress up for Halloween, but those moments were always reserved for special parties with my compatriots. What I love about living in Spain really boils down to the fact that I love living in Spain.

Cue the hate comments: I didn’t really sign up for an American life when I moved to Seville. And in all fairness, I’m letting it happen.

Spanish potato omelette

The line between life abroad and life as I knew it before 22 is blurrier than ever. I conduct a large part of my day in English, have English-speaking friends and watch TV in English. I just picked up a Spanish book for the first time in three years. I consume news in English via my smartphone and had to recently ask the Novio the name of the new mayor in town. 

I knew I needed to make a change when the Novio suggested we get Netflix as a wedding present to ourselves. Wait, you mean I can watch a show on a big screen with no need to let the show buffer for ten minutes? And in my native language? The fun of the TDT system, which allowed shows to be aired in their original language instead of dubbing. Ni de coña – I will binge watch my American television shows on my laptop. Wouldn’t that 8€ a month be better spent on something else?

While Spain is definitely not America when it comes to lines at the bank, reliable service or a way around 902 toll numbers, I find my adult life becoming more on par with that which my friends are living in the US. I got more than a fair dosage of Americanism this year, spending more than four months of fifteen in the US. Going home is a treat – Target, Portillo’s and endless hours of snuggling with our family dog – but it’s lost a lot of its sheen now that Seville has Americanized itself, be it for tourists or for sevillanos

But at what price? Gone are the decades-old ultramarinos that once peddled canned goods – they’ve made way for trendy bars and clothing chains. While I admit that the Setas – a harsh contrast from the turn-of-the-century buildings that ring Plaza de la Encarnación – have grown on me, they caused a lot of backlash and an entire neighborhood to address itself. Do I really need a fancy coffee bar to do work at, or a gym with the latest in training classes?

Reflections of Study Abroad in Spain

As my world becomes more globalized, I find myself seeking the Spain I fell in love with when I studied abroad in Valladolid and the Seville that existed in 2007. We’re talking pre-Crisis, pre-smartphones and pre-instagram filters, and one where a Frapuccino every now and then helped me combat my homesickness. The Spain that was challenging, new and often frustrating. The Spain in which I relished long siestas, late nights and a voracious desire to learn new slang and new rincones of a new place.

But… how do I get back there? The Sevilla I discovered at age 22 is barely recognizable. Do I love it? Do I deal with it? I mostly stick around Triana, which stills feels as barrio and as authentic as it did when I took up residence on Calle Numancia in 2007.

This sort of rant seems to be a November thing, when rain has me cooped up outside instead of indulging in day drinking and mentally preparing myself to de-feather and de-gut a turkey. Maybe I’m in a slump. Maybe I’m comfortable. Maybe I’m lazy. Or maybe it’s just the fact that Spain doesn’t present the same day-to-day victories as it once did. 

One thing I know for certain is that I’m looking forward to jumping back into the Spanish manera de ser once the Novio arrives back home this week. I can’t wait to head to San Nicolás, sans computer, and search for castañas, to sleep without an alarm and to remember why and how Spain became mi cosa.

Do you ever feel like you’re no longer living abroad? Any pointers to get me back on track?

Let’s Have a Little Talk About Spanish Toilets

The smell hits me like a pata de jamón to the head: a cocktail of bathroom disinfectant, spilled hand soap, ancient pipes and bleach. And that’s only if the person before me hasn’t bothered to flush.

Verdad verdadera: if you drink liquids, you have to pee. If you drink beer, you have to pee twice as much. And if you drink beer in Spain, you have to pee in a filthy, poorly lit bathroom that likely doesn’t have toilet paper (and if it does, you’d better steal what’s left of the roll and stash that contraband in your purse).

In the eight years I’ve lived in Spain, I’ve not been able to get over Spanish bathrooms.I’d do a silent fist pump when I’d find a few scraps of toilet paper, or a toilet seat, or even hand soap (also known as the váter Holy Trifecta) in a public bathroom.

But váter, you and I have to have a talk.

Let's Talk About Bathrooms in Spain

It was on a sweltering July night at an old man bar in my neighborhood that I actually considered shuffling three blocks back to house to use our facilities. But I’d had several vermouths, so I handed the Novio my purse and scuttled to the unisex bathroom.

The space was hardly larger than a broom closet (in fact, it probably once was), and my toes rested right next to the door when I closed it. I was wearing sandals, so the bottoms of my feet became soaked in who knows what. As I squatted, my butt hit the wet pipe attached to the flush, and I struggled to find the light switch in the dark. The pipes creaked as I attempted to flush a running toilet, so I gave up entirely, ran my hands under the faucet obsessively and ordered another vermouth (though grain alcohol to kill any germs might have been a better option).

I won’t call out any names here, but as a rule of thumb, if it’s a brightly-lit cervecería frequented by old men, you shouldn’t expect anything special. A step up might be a restaurant frequented by the same old men. I won’t even get into the toilets at discos – particularly the outdoor terraces in the summer. I mean, even the Parador de Zafra, a luxury hotel owned by the Spanish government, has a problem keeping toilets stocked with toilet paper!

Not all hope is lost – any place that caters to tourists or business travelers has a better shot at possessing the Váter Trifecta. But Andalucía seems to be the worst when it comes to bathrooms. A friend of mine runs food tours and trained her Seville guides to always bring a small pack of tissues for tour guests, lest they be forced to drip dry.

What are toilets like in Spain

My buttload of gripes has grown as I’ve gotten older. I mean, I went to a large Midwestern University where Saturday morning tailgating meant either sneaking into a stranger’s house on Melrose Court, or finding an alternative solution. But a civilized country deserves a civilized sort of outhouse.

First off, women’s restrooms in Spain tend to double as storage closets for empty beverage bottles, stacking crates and even cleaning supplies (so where the cojones do they keep the toilet paper?!). On more than one occasion, I’ve had to crawl over a pile of crap just to get to the toilet.

I’ve made it abundantly clear that toilet paper is noticeably absent in a high percentage of bathrooms. If you’re a lady, whenever you feel the urge, you either have to rummage around in your purse for kleenex, discreetly ask a friend, or grab a wad of napkins from a table. But Spanish napkins aren’t designed to do anything more than mop up wax, so you’re better off not even trying with them. Note to self: add Kleenex packets to my shopping list.

But don’t throw tissue (or waxy napkins, or really anything non-liquid) into the toilet bowl, because you will cause stress on already overworked pipes and clog the toilet. I once made that mistake and couldn’t show my face in that bar for two months – TWO months! But don’t worry, there will be a NO TIRAR PAPELES AL WC sign affixed somewhere in the room just in case you forget. “We won’t replace the toilet paper for months because we don’t want you to accidentally throw it in the bowl” seems to be every old man bar’s mantra.

bathroom soap in Spain

Soap and paper towels have no place in a  Spanish bathroom either, so even washing your hands can be futile. Alternatives are your jeans, your jacket, or simply walking out of the toilet with wet hands, people moving away from you as if you were covered in blood or leprosy sores. Makes you want to wipe your hands on the bartender’s jeans instead.

And let’s talk briefly about you can only use bathrooms if you’ve had a consumición at the bar? I’ve had to resort to slamming a beer and beelining to the bathroom or ordering a scalding café con leche and have it sit waiting for me as I squatted over yet another shitty (pardon the pun) latrine. Even the holes in the ground in China and Turkey seem more sanitary than the “marvels of modern plumbing” in Iberia.

My first vision of Spain was from a bus that pulled into my study abroad city, Valladolid. I pulled the Iberia blanket off of my head and groggily stared out the window as we stopped at a stoplight. A young mother was holding her child at arm’s length as the little girl let out a steady stream of pis. On the street. In plain daylight. Consumption at a bar be damned, this kid is peeing on a tree.

Pues nada.

This post is a little NSFW, yes, but a constant topic when I’m with my guiri friends. Have any other bathroom gripes to add?

My Seville Superlatives: The Best of the Andalusian Capital

I’ve lived (in Triana and Cerro. a World Cup. the Tomatina). I’ve loved (teaching. long nights. tostadas. the Novio). And I’ve learned (how to fake your way to anyhing by playing the guiri card, mostly).

And after eight years as a sevillamericana – September 13th is my eight Spaniversary! – I think I can call myself a Seville expert. In a city as rancio as this one, two years as a guiri resident means you know the city like the back of your hand – or at least the back bar of Buddha.

The Best of the Best

And thus, dear readers, I present my curated collection of the Best of the Best, in an order as random as the streets of Santa Cruz:

Best Place to Watch a Sunset: As the popular song goes, El sol duerme in Triana y nace en Santa Cruz. My favorite place to see the sun go down is on the banks of the Guadalquivir with a clear view to the Triana bridge that links the city center to my neighborhood. There are loads of bars that way, as well.

seville guadalquivir river

Best Terrace Bar: As long as we’re talking about bars, rooftop bars got hella trendy right about the time I stopped paying rent by moving in with the Novio. This meant I had disposable income that went straight to having fun on the weekends, and I still love one of the first I went to: The Roof on Calle Trajano. Trendy and reasonably priced (as in, 7€ for a G&T instead of 10€), plus with views to the Setas and the Cathedral.

Best Scoop of Ice Cream: Ice cream shops abound, but my favorite is La Fiorentina on Calle Zaragoza. Who can resist cream of torrijas (a Spanish French Toast) or lemon with mint sorbet?

ice cream at La Fiorentina Seville

Best Park: María Luisa is charming and has a bunch of resident pigeons, but Parque del Alamillo is sprawling and includes a zip line and far less flying rats.

Best Local Festival: If you’ve read my blog long enough, you’ll know the cattle fair-turned Andalusian showcase the Feria de Abril is my favorite, but I’ll give the Velá de Santa Ana and Holy Week a nod, too.

La Feria en Crisis

Best Tourist Attraction: Ooh, my first tough question, but I’m going to say Plaza de España. It’s free, always open and is a special part of Seville’s history. Built nearly a century ago by famed sevillano architect Aníbal González, the tiles, benches and moats were the focal point of the 1929 Ibero-American Fair.

Best Museum: I love a good museum, and Seville is bursting with them. Seriously – this city is 2000 years old! From Flamenco to Fine Arts, ceramics to horse carriages. Espacio Santa Clara isn’t technically a museum, but hosts exhibitions throughout the year in an old nunnery. Find it near the Alameda in the Macarena neighborhood.

Espacio Santa Clara Fountain Seville

Best Museum You’ve Never Heard Of: I’ve heard of it but haven’t been, and my friend Karen McCann of Enjoy Living Abroad loves it: The Science Museum, or Parque María Luisa’s Casa de la Sciencia, which she lovingly calls the Little Museum of Horrors!

Best Tourist Attraction to Skip and Spend that Money on Beer: I mean, I would say the Cathedral because often skip taking people in, despite it being free for me, but the Giralda is worthy of you 10€ (or for far less, you can scale the Setas in an elevator for a view that includes the famous tower). The Torre del Oro and it seafaring museum are largely disappointing, and the view from the top isn’t any better from it because of large plexiglass barriers.

Bike Tour Torre del Oro

Or, just grab a liter of beer and sit underneath the Torre del Oro, taking in the sunset (see what I did there?)

Best Cruzcampo Bar: Loaded question. It seems that, in Seville, you’re never more than 100 feet from a bar or an ATM, and the question of who has the best pour is largely debated. I’ll go with my perennial favorite, La Grande in Triana, or nodescript La Melva in Sector Sur, and also give a shout to El Tremendo in Santa Catalina.

drinking beer in spain

Best Plaza for People Watching: Spanish abuelitos stalk Plaza Nueva, just adjacent to Avenida de la Constitución and town hall. You can also watch street performers, witness weddings and join in protests.

Best Plaza for Beer Drinking: While I think there is nothing greater than drinking a beer outside on a sunny day, I often take guests to Plaza del Salvador to stand beneath a salmon pink church that’s centrally located.

Best Chocolate con Churros: Churros on a Sunday morning are one of my treasured traditions, and none are as good as the ones at Bar La Rueca in Plaza del Juncal. It’s a trek unless you’re in Nervión.

best churros in Seville

Best Barrio: Crowing a neighborhood as queen of them all is difficult because of taste. I’m partial to a few for their cultural and gastronomical offering, and am a big fan of mi querida Triana. I also like bullfighting neighborhood El Arenal, hip Feria with its weekly flea market, El Jueves, and even Alameda is growing on me. 

Best Day Trip: Sadly, Seville doesn’t have too many quaint towns or natural highlights. While I’d spring to go to San Nicolás del Puerto at any free chance and hike the Vía Verde, I usually send other visitors to Córdoba. A 45-minute train ride straight to a quainter version of Seville and home to as Spanish of a corn dog as you can get, the flamenquín.

cordoba guadalquivir river

Best Montaíto de Pringá: This mincemeat sandwich is one of Seville’s culinary claims to fame, and most traditional tapas bars will have it on the menu. For me, Bodega Santa Cruz‘s is top notch and a perfect, hot snack if I’m in the Santa Cruz neighborhood.

Best Breakfast: I wasn’t a huge fan of breakfast until I moved to Southern Spain and got coffee, freshly squeezed orange juice and bread with crushed tomato and olive oil for 2.50€. It ruined me. If I am craving something traditional, I love La Esquina del Arfe in the El Arenal district, but I’ll splurge with girlfriends at La Cacherrería on trendy Calle Regina every once in a while, too.

Bike Tour Sevilla Patio de las Banderas

Best Bike Shop: Seville’s is one of Spain’s best cities for biking (and within in the top 10 in Europe), and my beloved bike Feliciano gets his tune ups at Quique Cicle in El Juncal. A close second is my neighborhood shop, Ciclo Triana.

Best Haircut: Loli is more than just the lady who trims my split ends – she is my therapist, my language teacher and my biggest fan. Find her and her brother Manolo at Top Image in Puerta de Carmona.

A view of Seville from the Setas

Best Teeth Cleaning: Dental care in Spain is way different than in the US, and while no one can top my Spain fanatic Dr. Clinton back home, my best experience has been with Dra. Ardila in El Centro (coincidentally, she’s just a few blocks from la Fiorentina…!)

Best Flamenco Show: Admittedly, I’m not a huge follower of flamenco, but everyone I have sent to Casa de la Memoria, housed in an old palace on Calle Cuna, has not left disappointed.

La Dalia Tapas Sevilla Croquetas

Best Tapas Bar: I’m often asked about where to dine in Seville, and while this is an entirely personal question, I always suggest La Azotea. Inventive takes on traditional and local fare, plus an unbeatable wine list and terrific service. I usually head to the one in Santa Cruz. Another favorite is Bodeguita A. Romero, which has loads of different types of dishes for any taste.

Best Dive Bar: Can I say I’m a closet metal head? It’s been a while since I’ve been to Matacas (think heavy metal juke box, SciFi movies and the only legit Jägerbomb I’ve had in Seville), but this Puerta Osario bar is one of the most underrated in town.

Madrid Typical Bars

Best Bar Manolo: Call it what you want – Bar Manolo, Bar de Viejos or Old Man Bar, but these establishments are seriously the salt of the Spanish earth. You get beer, house wine, vermouth and a shot of anís on the menu, but what they lack in choice they make up for in character.

In my neighborhood I hit La Estrellita and El Paleta Viejo; in Santa Cruz, Bodega Santa Cruz or El Goleta for orange-infused wine,  Bodega San Jose in El Arenal (it smells like cat piss, I know) or Bodega La Aurora in Alfalfa. Really, if there’s a Spanish abuelo outside, I’ll go in. 

Best Street: My opinion on this has changed yearly, and many streets have a lot of charm. I’ll go with Calle San Eloy in the smack dab center for its shops and gorgeous balconies.

The streets of Santa Cruz, Seville

Best Spot for a Selfie: Calle Placentines where it crosses Argote de Molina. You can get the entire Giralda in for free (though if you’re willing to pay, take the Cathedral Rooftop Tour).

Best Splurge: Seville can be done on the dirt cheap (hostels, bocadillos and beer buckets at La Sureña) or you can make it lavish. While it could be tempting to stay and play at Seville’s only f-Star hotel, Alfonso XII, I’d vote for the hammam and massage at Aire de Sevilla, tucked away in Santa Cruz.

Best Food to Try, Just Because: Caracoles, or snails. Look for them in the springtime. I prefer them to, say, coagulated blood in onions.

Snail Tale

Best Tour: Seville is a dream for travelers: budget-friendly, accessible and full of things to do. I’ve been invited on loads of cool tours but think my favorite would be Devour Spain‘s part-history, part-gastronomy tour.

Best Semana Santa Bar: I always take my visitors to a church to explain Seville’s reverance to Holy Week, and follow up with a beer at a Semana Santa bar, covered with relics and photos of this important celebration. I either do the Esperanza de Triana—Bar Santa Ana route, or skip the church and head right to La Fresquita in Santa Cruz, where the barkeep is a member of the Macarena and has a botafumeiro going every so often.

Carrera Oficial Semana Santa Sevilla

Best Menú del Día: three parts food and a million parts a wallet-saver, the menú del día is a fixed-price menu with two entrees, dessert, drink and bread for cheap. The choices at Bar Bocaíto in Nervión are plentiful and always changing, and you pay just 7.50€. No wonder the place is always packed! 

Best Local Market: I’m partial to two – Calle Feria‘s is set in a crumbling building next to a church with a bar on two of the four corners. In one of those bars, you can actually buy something from a fish stall and have it served up! The other is my local market, el Mercado de San Gonzalo. It’s gritty and cheap and was one of the area’s first permanent buildings.

mercado san miguel madrid seafood

Best Disco: I am not the person to be asking about this (look for me instead at the Bar Manolos), but I like Alfonso in Parque María Luisa during the summer months and Tokio during other times of the year for its proximity to the center.

Best Place to Catch Something Cultural: The Patio de la Diputación almost always has something on during the weekends and summer. Think movies, talks and free food samples.

cordoba tiles

Best Souvenir: If your carry-on can handle it, the hand painted ceramics on sale in Triana‘s multiple shops are my favorite things to buy for friends. Check Calle San Jorge and stop by the newly inaugurated Ceramics Museum if you can.

Best Month for Sevillanos: April. Orange trees are in blossom, the weather is perfect, Cruzcampo seems to taste better and, if we’re really lucky, both Semana Santa and Feria fall in April.

Best Month to Visit: I usually push for October, March and April because of the weather and cheaper prices. But seriously, Seville has a lot to offer whenever you come – even in the stifling summer months!

Plaza del Altozano Triana

Seville seems to have one foot firmly in the past and another stepping towards the future. It’s constantly changing within its parameters but hold true to its values and customs. In eight years, I’ve explored every inch of the city center and a number of barrios, become a fierce supporter of a local team, learned the lingo and have come to feel like one of them.

Challenge me on anything, and you’ll give me something to do at the weekend!

Ten Mistakes New Language Assistants Make (and how to avoid them)

My Spanish now-husband couldn’t help but laugh when I looked, puzzled, at our new coffee maker. I was jetlagged, yes, but also coming off six weeks of straight drip machine American coffee. The cafetera had me reconsidering a caffeine boost and swapping it for a siesta.

‘Venga ya,’ he said, exasperated, ‘every time you come back into town, you act like you’re a complete newbie to Spain!’ He twisted off the bottom of the pot, filled it with steaming water and ordered me to unpack.

Even after eight years of calling Spain home, I can so clearly remember the days when everything in Seville was new, terrifying and overwhelming. That time when the prospect of having a conversation with my landlord over the phone meant nervously jotting down exactly what I’d say to him before dialing.

You know my Spain story – graduate, freak out about getting a teaching job in Spain, hassles with my visa, taking a leap by moving to a foreign country where I knew not a soul. How I settled into a profession I swore I never would, found a partner and fought bureaucracy. I’ve come a long way since locking myself in my bedroom watching Arrested Development to avoid Spanish conversation, though each year I get more and more emails from aspiring expats and TEFL teachers who ask themselves the same questions:

Is it all worth it? Is it possible at all? How can I do it?

Like anyone moving to a foreign country, there’s a load of apprehension, endless questions, and a creeping sense of self-doubt as your flight date looms nearer and nearer. I tried and learned the hard way how to do practically everything, from looking for a place to live to paying bills to finding a way to make extra income. Call it dumb luck or call it nagging anyone who would lend a friendly ear, but I somehow managed to survive on meager Spanish and a few nice civil servants (and tapas. Lots of tapas.).

As a settled expat, I am quick to warn people that Spain is not all sunshine and siestas, and that it’s easy to fall into the same traps that got me during that long first year. Year after year, I see language assistants do the same, so let these serve as a warning:

Packing too much

Back in 2007, I packed my suitcase to the brim and even toppled over when I stepped off the train in Granada. Lesson learned – really think about what you’re packing, the practicality of every item and whether or not you could save space by purchasing abroad. If you’re smart about packing, you’ll have loads of room for trendy European fashions to wow your friends back home (and you won’t have to lug luggage up three flights of stairs).

Deciding on an apartment without seeing it

I was so nervous about the prospect of renting an apartment that I found one online, wired money and hoped for the best. Despite my gut telling me it was maybe not the smartest idea, I decided to grin and bear it. I ended staying in that same flat for three years. In hindsight, choosing a flat before seeing it was a stupid move that could have turned out poorly. What if I didn’t like my roommates, or the neighborhood? How could I tell if it was noisy or not? Would my landlords be giant jerks? Save yourself the trouble and worry about finding a place to live when you get here.

Choosing not to stay in touch with loved ones

My first weeks in Spain were dark ones – I struggled to see what my friends and family were up to on Facebook or messenger, and I did a terrible job of staying in touch with them. I was bursting to share my experience, but worried no one would relate, or worse – they simply wouldn’t care. Get over it and Facetime like crazy. That’s what siesta hour was invented for, right? Or at least Skype.

Not bringing enough money

Money is a sticky issue, and having to deal with what my father calls “funny money” makes it more difficult. Remember – even coins can buy you quite a bit! Consider bringing more money than you might think, because things happen. Some regions won’t pay assistants until December, or you may not be able to find tutoring side jobs. Perhaps you will fall in love with an apartment that is more expensive than you bargained for. Having a cushion will ensure you begin enjoying yourself and your new situation right away, without having to turn down day trips or a night out with new friends. 

Not taking time to learn Spanish

Moving is scary. Moving abroad is scarier. Moving abroad without being able to hold your own in the local language is the scariest. Take some time to learn Spanish and practice conversation at whatever cost. Spanish will help you accomplish things as mundane as asking for produce at the market to important situations like making formal complaints. Ah, and that brings me to my next point…

Not interacting with locals

I studied abroad in Valladolid and met not one Spanish person during my six weeks there. While I have great memories with my classmates and adored my host family, I feel that I missed out on what young people did in Spain (and I had trouble keeping up when they did talk to me). In most parts of the country, Spaniards are extremely friendly and open to meeting strangers. Even if it’s the old man having coffee next to you – lose your self-doubt and strike up a conversation. I scored cheaper car insurance just by talking to a lonely man at my neighborhood watering hole.

Adhering to timetables and traditions from your home country

As if adapting to language and a new job weren’t enough, Spain’s weird timetables can throw anyone into a funk. I tried getting a sensible night’s sleep for about two weeks when I started to realize that being in bed before midnight was nearly impossible. If you can’t beat them, siesta with them, I guess.

And that’s not to say you can’t bring your traditions to Spain, either. Making Thanksgiving for your Spanish friends is always memorable, as is dressing up on Halloween and carving watermelons for lack of pumpkins. Embrace both cultures.

Not exercising (and eating too many tapas)

My first weeks in Spain were some of my loneliest, to be honest. I hadn’t connected with others and therefore had yet to made friends. I skipped the gym and ate frozen pizzas daily. My weight quickly bloomed ten pounds. The second I began accepting social invitations and making it a point to walk, I dropped everything and more. Amazing what endorphins and Vitamin D can do!

Not getting a carnet joven earlier

Even someone who works to save money flubs – the carnet joven is a discount card for European residents with discounts on travel, entrance fees and even services around Europe. I waited until I was 26 to get one, therefore disqualifying myself from the hefty discounts on trains. This continent loves young people, so get out there and save!

Working too much

Remember that you’re moving to Spain for something, whether it’s to learn the language, to travel or to invest more time in a hobby. Maybe Spain is a temporary thing, or maybe you’ll find it’s a step towards a long-term goal. No matter what your move means to you, don’t spend all of your waking hours working or commuting – you’ll miss out on all of the wonderful things to do, see and experience in Spain. When I list my favorite things about Spain, the way of life is high on my list!

So how do you avoid these mistakes?

It’s easy: research. I spent hours pouring over blogs, reference books and even travel guides to maximize my year and euros in Spain. While there were bumps in the road, and I had to put my foot in my mouth more times than I’d like to recall, I survived a year in Spain and came back for seven more (and counting).

That’s why COMO Consulting has brought out an enhanced edition of it successful eBook to help those of you who are moving to Spain for the first time. In our ten chapter, 135-page book, you’ll find all of the necessary information to get you settled into Spain as seamlessly as possible. In it, we cover all of the documents you’ll need to get a NIE, how to open a bank account, how to seek out the perfect apartment, setting up your internet and selecting a mobile phone and much (much!) more.

Each chapter details all of the pertinent vocabulary you’ll need and we share our own stories of where we went wrong (so hopefully you won’t!). Being an expat means double the challenge but twice the reward, so we’re thrilled to share this book that Hayley and I would have loved to have eight years ago – we might have saved ourselves a lot of embarrassing mishaps! The book is easy to read and downloadable in PDF form, so you can take it on an e-reader, computer or tablet, and there’s the right amount of punch to keep you laughing about the crazy that is Spain.


Downloading Moving to Spain is easy – the button above is linked to COMO’s online shop. Click, purchase thru PayPal, and you’re set! You will receive email notification of a successful purchase and a link to download the eBook. You can also click here.

If you act quickly, you can score Moving to Spain for a discount this week. Use the discount code ‘COMO25SVQ‘ for 25% off the asking price, bringing the ultimate Spain resource to 7,50€. You can use that saved money for tapas!

Have you ever moved abroad before? What’s your biggest piece of advice?


On Letting Go & Floating On:  Musings from a Chronic Traveler

At lot has changed with me this week: I got married! The Novio and I finally said our Sí, quieros (albeit in English) in a bilingual, bicultural fiesta. In the US for the rest of the month, I’m gearing up to say adiós to a potential life in America and hello to a future in Spain.

There, I finally said it.

Danni, another Chicagoan-turned-española and a part of Las Morenas de España, sent me this article that I found myself nodding to. Do we have to say goodbye constantly to say hello to what we really want and maybe even need?

guest post by Danni melena

I’m a chronic traveler. I’ve said “hello” and “good-bye” more times than I can count. The issue lies in the fact that I spent so many years holding onto my “home”, Chicago, because I was afraid that if I loosened my grip even in the slightest, I’d lose it forever. I felt my heart being pulled in several different directions spread out all over the globe, but I felt that if the anchor that held me to home budged even a little bit, that I’d have to address the fact that I see home in several places.

I tried to keep one foot in Chicago, and the other wherever my plane or train landed next, and I came to the realization that it’s hard. I assumed that the more time and distance I placed between myself and “home” the blurrier the memories, the weaker the connections and the further I’d drift out into open water. Little did I know that “home” is fluid, and that by allowing myself to drift ever so slightly, I don’t necessarily lose a home, but gain the ability to feel at home wherever I am.


On Saying “So Long” in order to Say Hello:

That’s the funny thing about traveling: in order to say “hello” to someone, or some place new, you must first leave where you are, and that’s not always the simplest thing to do. It’s never easy taking those first steps to venture away from the comfy, cashmere snuggie that is your “now” and leave.

Whether you jumped from the cliff on your own will while screaming “Viva Wanderlust”, or you inched your way slowly with the help of family, friends, and travel-inspiration on Instagram, you did it. No matter how you arrived, or what made you leave: I commend you. You are brave. You are strong. You’ve done what others talked themselves out of doing, and spoke louder than the voice in your head, you know, the one that disguises itself as “logic”.  Hello. Hello to you, and welcome.

On Saying Hello:

Hello. Hola. Bonjour. Ciao. Ni Hao. Hallo. Habari. Shalom. However you say “hello” it means the same thing: I’m here, and I’m opening myself to you and my new surroundings. Even if your voice shakes, hello is an invitation for life to happen and for you to live. At times, hello is tiring, and it’s intimidating and it’s daunting.


It’s an act of self-assertion. I’m here. It leads into those long conversations with people who start out as strangers and end up as friends. This word—these five letters—are crucial for the chronic traveler because combined with a smile, they can melt any ice. Saying “hello” for me is the first step that opens my heart to a new home, and stretches the ropes that tie me to my first home, where I was born and raised. Hello starts the game of tug-of-war that pulls me from here to there as I travel.

On Getting Situated:

What do you need to feel at home? Do you need familiar faces? Your favorite brand of cookies or candy? Do you need to hear a language that you can understand and speak? Do you need McDonald’s or are you more of a Burger King fan? What makes you feel at home: safe, happy, comfortable and at ease? I asked myself this question several times and this is what I’ve come up with:

  • Food: Vegetarian food, International cuisine, and American-style Brunch make me feel at home. I live on happycow.com because in my opinion, food and positive food experiences line the walls that make “home” for me. Sharing a meal, cooking with strangers in a hostel, shopping in local markets: this is a form of making memories that is essential to my feeling at home and content.
  • Jeans (with at least 2% spandex): I know, that’s really specific, but I mean it. I feel sexy and comfortable in jeans. I’ve lived in 4 countries and traveled to several more, and there is a direct and undeniable link between my ability to find jeans that make me feel my best, and my likelihood to live (happily) in a place. Okay, it’s not just about jeans; it goes a bit deeper. It means being able to shop, and feel like my size and my style is represented. It’s about the fact that I’m halfway across the world, and everything I’ve ever known, and still manage to participate in the mundane act of shopping. I feel those ropes that link me to “home” pull tighter because I realize that what I did there, I can do anywhere and what I’m trying to hold onto so tightly isn’t unique to that one place. That’s a sobering thought.
  • Community: I need community! I need friends, and friendly people with whom I can chat about everything, and about nothing. I yearn to look at my calendar and see that in X amount of days, there’s an event that I’m looking forward to attending, and with people that I genuinely want to see. That’s why I became involved with Las Morenas de España, a site for young, adventurous, WOC interested and/or living in Spain. I want to hug those who arrive at Barajas with looks of confusion, exhaustion and pure adrenaline and tell them that it’ll be ok, and that they’re home. Home, there goes that word again. It gets easier. Now, every time my heart extends its strings to form a new connection with a fellow chronic traveler, I feel my fists loosen and my mind relax slightly, which again, draws me further away from my home base, but I’m learning that’s okay. I tell those who lay down roots in Spain to collaborate, to reach out and to speak up because more likely than not, our narratives will overlap. I found so much in common with other women and travelers on a recent trip to Nantes, France than I ever could have imagined. I try to find community wherever I may travel, even if it’s for a weekend holiday: there are secrets to be revealed, experiences to be had, and people to meet.  Support one another, and build something great. To all the nomads, travelers, self-proclaimed wanderlust-havers: we are stronger together than we could ever be apart. Build. Create. Unite.


On Saying Good-Bye:

There’s a certain ease and comfort of realizing that home is where you are in that moment. I had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that it’s okay to loosen my grip, because that’s the only way to make space for new connections and links. The trouble with home is that it cannot be captured and contained. At times I feel pulled in a million different directions: Portugal, Ecuador, Dominican Republic, Spain, America, France, Germany; all of these places, and the people I was blessed to cross paths with left an imprint on my heart. On the other hand, they also pulled the rope away from where I started, where I thought home had to exist.

How foolish I was to think that I could bottle home and keep it stagnant. It’s impossible. It’s unrealistic. Hello’s happen because good-bye’s happened first. With that being said, I’d like to remind you of the most beautiful thing I’ve learned as a chronic traveler: our heart is a muscle. Muscles require that you use them, and the more the use them, the bigger and stronger and more flexible they get. I can say now, with no fear or doubt that I find home—what I love about home—in every experience, new friend, adventure, hello and, the inevitable good-bye.

11822432_10152934229266533_4550720742415852319_nDanni, Community Director at Las Morenas de España, is a twenty-something, Chicago native currently residing in Madrid. Lover of language, words, and travel, she’s managed to combine all of her passions through her work. In her free time, you can find her exploring the winding streets of Madrid, hunting down good flight deals, planning her next adventure and writing & researching for LMDES. Danni loves spicy food, natural hair, music and of course, her wonderful life partner. If you need to find her, she’s the girl with huge hair and her face buried in her Kindle.

A word about Las Morenas de EspañaLas Morenas de España is redefining the Black experience in Spain. With stories, resources and insights and exclusive travel knowledge, Las Morenas is the ultimate destination for anyone with an interest in Spain.  This site is a space for diverse stories to be shared, community to be fostered and for people all over the world to have an inside guide to Spain, inspiring them to experience and enjoy the country in a way they never have before.

Sound off: can you empathize with Danni? 

How Billy Madison Memes Perfectly Describe Wedding Planning

Ah, summer. My most favorite season of the year – beach days, sunshine and sleeping in. And sunburns. Always sunburns.


And then I decided to plan a wedding one summer and get married the next. My leisurely time off of work soon turned into spreadsheets, frantic phone calls and early morning work outs.

On one particularly stressful afternoon, I turned on the TV during a self-mandated wedding time-out. Billy Madison, easily one of the most quotable movies of all time (or else my childhood), was on, and as Billy struggled to make it through Veronica Vaughn’s third grade class, I felt a kinship. He had to stay sane amidst the O’Doyle clan, devious Eric and the penguin, and I have to stay on top of seating charts and meal selections.

As I head into the last stretch of planning and plotting my big day, Billy’s memes are getting me through:

When Dad announces what your wedding budget will be:


DIY? Please. Caviar taste on a pauper’s budget.

When you find out your date is open at your top-choice venue.


The stars align. I’m serious people.

When vendors try and upsell you their confetti machine / ice sculpture of your head / custom cocktails / something else outrageous, and you’re about ready to plug your ears:

stupid answer

Survival of the fittest in wedding land is all about the bottom line, and mine is Nah NO.

When you get too hangry because your wedding diet sucks all of the fun out of lunchtime.

snack pack

Working with small kids and their bounty of delicious snacks is a terrible way to stick to your diet. It’s cruel.

When your wedding “beauty routine” has you second guessing your personal hygiene (and why you should be coloring your grays, getting hydration treatments and going to the gym twice a day):

shampoo is bettter

I hate you knot.com (and myself).

When you find a way to save money and/or time:

smartest man

When you have to address hundreds of save the date postcards, wedding invitations, thank you notes and place cards:


Shoulda cut down that guest list.

When you get to the “I just don’t care about this anymore” phase:

good great

My thoughts on cake, programs, transportation and all of those details. OVER them.

When you frantically need answers from vendors and no one is answering your calls or emails:

t t t t t t


Time zone, people. 

When you’re trying to track down people who haven’t RSVP’d.

guest list

There shall be payback when it’s your turn by way of missing the deadline. Or maybe with your table assignment.

When it’s time for the Bachelorette Party. Bring on the margaritas, y’all:

steve buscemi

I know this is from the Wedding Singer, but Steve Buscemi was in Billy Madison, and it was this or Nudie Magazine Day.

When you leave it up to other people to buy your trosseau:

get it on

I’m sorry, future husband.

When the first meal after taking off your wedding dress is something so terrible for you:

get me a happy meal

Ok, I cheated again, but I also cheated on my wedding diet, so who cares?

This is, of course, all in jest. I’m crazy excited for Saturday and have been trying to take everything in stride. My vendors have been really helpful, my mom has done a bang-up job in my absence, and my Type A personality has disappeared (well, except when it comes to creating schedules!). 

Onto married life!

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