Spain disappeared over the horizon over a week ago, but it was only today that the prospects of me returning finally went with it.
Despite plenty of overtures and interviews, and encountering a number of knowledgeable people who really wanted to have me working with them, the last likely job opportunity in Spain has now been turned down because of red tape. The many thousands of euros I poured into the Spanish economy have been for the most part fruitless.
Bitter? Me? Fuggen oath.
It was a common thread really. The initial responses were effusive, enthusiastic and eager; but on discovering I spoke very little Spanish, and more importantly didn’t have the required work and residency permit, the smiles faded, and brows became a little furrowed (in instances where I could see the brows).
Being philosophical about it all, I guess in many respects I went there with a little too much naiveté. The signals I received prior to departure suggested there’d be a strong demand for my skills and all I needed to deal with was the work permit issue, and that this was simply a matter of jumping through some hoops. Easy. But in the end, bureaucracy killed any progress, and now I’m marooned back in Australia with no real prospect of returning.
I even dreamt about it last night. In the dream, after having spent considerably longer in Spain than three months, I was packing to leave, up against the clock, and looking like I’d miss my flight to London, and thus, my flight back to Australia. I’d calculated the latest possible departure from Madrid should I miss that connection, but true to form, hadn’t bothered writing it down. As time ticked by, I opened a cupboard as I was preparing to leave the apartment, and found a heap of things I’d forgotten about, including a small suitcase from a cousin of mine who’d come to visit me whilst I was in Madrid.
Needless to say I freaked. Now, there was no chance of me meeting the baggage requirements, and I was almost certainly going to miss my flight. Within the dream I envisaged three scenarios, locking up all this extra stuff in a storage locker for someone (not sure who) to come and get it at a later stage, or paying the extra fees for excess baggage, or deciding to stay in Madrid (oddly, the legalities of this didn’t appear to be a problem). I also had the stresses of getting a hire car to the depot, and actually catching the flight.
I woke up before the dream reached a conclusion, and of all the things that happened in the dream, that is the part that I don’t understand. Did I miss my flight and have to stay in Madrid for another several days before my next connection? Did I leave some of my things in Madrid? Did I stay there indefinitely? I know I feel like I left something there, but to dream about the prelude to leaving, but not actually seeing if I did or not really stumped me.
I know I hope to go back, but if it’s not to work, I seriously doubt I can afford to.