A lot can happen in three weeks, unless you’re waiting for planning permission from the Xunta de Galicia.

But that’s where the good news comes in. We’ve had notice from our architect, the one who can’t be named, that the Xunta have finally sent through their approval of our application to convert the barn into a dwelling, ‘obras mayores’, just fourteen months after we initially submitted it!

What’s more, the Xunta has not placed a single constraint or condition on the approval and it has been accepted in full. This despite lower than permitted roof heights, a lack of solar panels and the limited amount of windows, the architect argued our case and the Xunta are happy.

With the Xunta happy, we’re very happy, and the architect is ecstatically happy, but also a little shocked at the lack of clarifications and conditions.

The next stage is for the drawing up of detailed plans, final approval by the local council (a formality we believe), appointment of a contractor and placing an order for the windows and doors with our preferred carpenter. There is also a little legal transaction which needs to take place, adding the barn to the deeds as a dwelling rather than a barn so that the council can levy the right taxes. The only two certain things in Spanish life are taxes and death! (paraphrased from Daniel Defoe, in The Political History of the Devil, 1726).

But where there is good, there is inevitably bad!

The bad news came in the form of another letter from ‘Ministerio del Interior’, which after initially freaking out thinking was another speeding fine, turned out to be a second notification about the first fine (from two months ago). Reading the paperwork it appeared to us that the second letter was due to the fine being unpaid and that I was now on a ‘blacklist’. Our solicitor is now investigating, but she thinks that our payment has gone through fine, but that I am now on a register of offenders held on a public website. Terrific.

I took a look at the ‘speeding sinners’ website, while half hiding behind the settee out of fright, and there I am Paul xxxx – Huddersfield, GB - €400! The only solace is that there are other offenders on there who got fined a lot more than me for transgressing at the same camera, one guy got hit for €1,500. So now I don’t feel quite so bad.

We’re back out to Galicia very soon, I’ve just booked the flights and the hire car. We’ll meet the architect, builder, carpenters and our friends. Hopefully there will be plenty more blogs over the coming weeks as the project awakes from its’ enforced winter/spring slumbers.

‘Goodbye to you, my trusted friend.
We’ve known each other since we’re nine or ten.
Together we climbed hills and trees.
Learned of love and ABC’s,
skinned our hearts and skinned our knees.

We had joy, we had fun, we had a season in the sun.
But the hills that we climbed
were just seasons out of time.

With the flowers ev’rywhere.
I wish that we could both be there.
We had joy, we had fun, we had a season in the sun.’

That’s right, we’ve sold the Land Rover, I’ve parted with my travelling companion, I’ve terminated our relationship (volatile as it was).

Now with a new loving owner

Despite behaving brilliantly in last weeks mini ice-age, the time had come for us to remove the unused agricultural vehicle from the road outside our house, and find the blue goddess a new home where she could be loved and cherished.

Our neighbours are delighted.

After several weeks of advertising in Auto Trader, and gradually reducing my expectations on asking price, a nice couple from Doncaster came to see her on Easter Sunday and liked her so much that they drove off in her.

She is retiring to a life of dog walking, and if they are to be believed she’ll get a bit of a sprucing up with a pair of new doors, and her paintwork being revitalised. I did make a profit over what I paid back in September, but that’s only after ignoring the small fortune I sank into her to get her there and then keep her running and get me back from Galicia in January.

I am sad to see her go, as Mr Jacks almost says, ‘We had joy, we had fun, we had a season in the sun.

Mondays’ post brought an official letter from Spain.

Not the nice kind of letter granting our Obras Mayores planning permission for the barn, but the nasty kind from the ‘Centro de Tratamiento de Denuncias Automatizadas’ of the ‘Ministerio del Interior’. Denuncias isn’t a nice word, and I knew that it wasn’t going to be good news before I opened it for it had a red sticker on the outside, and red stickers are very rarely an indicator of good news.

Not my finest hour

Inside was a single piece of A4 paper, printed on both sides, with a photograph of a car, lots of writing in Spanish, and a figure in a box of €400.00. My heart sank. How had I managed to speed in the Land Rover? Surely they should be sending me an achievement certificate rather than a fine.

Then I looked at the paperwork in more detail.

The photograph was of a Volkswagen Polo, the date was in early December 2011, the location was just outside Santiago de Compostela, and the offence was for driving at 85 kph in a 50 kph zone.

My mind filled with questions; It’s not for me! That wasn’t me! How on earth am I going to sort this out?

Then reality dawned. When Mother came to visit in December I hired a car because the Landy was being a bit ‘fragile’. We went to Santiago de Compostela for a quick visit and a bit of lunch, and I recognised the registration number on the photograph. It was me after all!

Twenty years after my one-and-only previous speeding conviction (for averaging 95 mph on the motorway in a BMW 320i whilst being followed for 8 miles by a marked police car) I’d got a second, and this one was going to cost me €400.00 (reduced to €200.00 if paid within 20 days of receipt).

It looks like a fair cop, although I can’t remember driving through any fifty zones at eighty-five, and I nearly always observe the Spanish speed limits, much to the chagrin of locals following me through villages. But they’d send me the camera calibration certificate, and with me being the only one insured on the hire car it’s a ‘slam dunk’ for the authorities. It was a momentary lapse of concentration, probably talking to Mother.

I did some initial research and found out that failure to pay could result in me being arrested the next time I entered my adopted homeland. I hastily paid the fine at the reduced rate and then with further investigations found out that the four points I collected for the offence will be registered against my Spanish Identity Number (NIE). I’ve now eight left now before I get a Spanish driving ban.

All very embarrassing.

Now I dread the daily post landing on my doorstep, just in case I committed any more offences over there.

Back in ’98 when we bought our current house in Huddersfield, my memory is that it was a fairly simple process. We invited two reputable local companies around to give estimates, chose between white or brown PVC, then offered to pay 1/3rd of the price that they originally quoted. On that occasion the windows were manufactured and installed in pretty quick time, and we’ve not looked back since.

I thought it would be the same in Spain, but it appears that I was very wrong.

The last time we were in Galicia we took our specification to three window companies to get quotes for the windows (5) and doors (2) for the barn and were fairly explicit in our brief. They need to look traditional be; made from hard-wearing, low-maintenance iroco; be double glazed; secure with wrought iron fixtures; and, all with internally opening shutters. I’d measured everything up, taken photos of the openings, and thought I’d considered all that I would need to, but included my e-mail address just in case.

My mailbox has been filling up with questions ever since, most of which we are struggling to even understand.

It seems that traditional windows in Galicia are constructed of several panes of glass with wooden batons in between, however, this is very expensive and the recommendation seems to be to have a single pane of glass with batons fixed to the outside to simulate traditional windows.

There is also a big debate about how the windows should be secured, and this will vary depending on whether we want inward or outward opening windows. Although all the ones we’ve seen open inwards.

One of the openings is quite wide, almost two metres, and here we’ve specified a door to one side and windows to the other (as above, drawn with my rudimentary door design skills). This appears to have caused carpenter meltdown and seems to be something which none of the three have ever done before.

Another long night at the keyboard stretches out in-front of us as I try and explain what I mean in long-winded English and Amanda tries to translate it into carpenters Spanish, as we increasingly realise that we need to be out there to explain things properly.

Wish us luck.

On our last visit the architect told us that there was no problem in commissioning the replacement balcony under the planning permissions we already had. ‘Replacement balcony’ in that it would be a whole new balcony in place of the three rotten beams that had previously supported such a structure the last time that the upper floor of the balcony was inhabited, over 100 years ago.

This was a great relief to our carpenter José who, months ago, had prepared and installed the supporting beams, and was driving around with the chestnut planks, spindles, newels and handrails in the back of his van. Under the impression that we needed our ‘major works’ license we’d been stalling, and he’d been seriously out of pocket having bought and prepared all the timber without any cash up-front.

We met up with José at his shop in Meira, Carpintería Koté, to discuss getting a quotation for windows and doors, and you could see the look of relief on his face as we told him to go ahead and install the balcony, take and send some photos of it finished, and then send us his bill.

Here is what José sent over the weekend, and mighty pleased we are from the look of the photos. New, yet traditional. Small in keeping with the proportions of the barn, yet big enough to sit out on and drink a bottle of wine on a summers evening. He’s done a great job.

Almost a month after our return we’ve also started receiving quotes for other works, including; the completion of the barn, the conversion of bread oven house, and for the windows and doors. All we need now is that major works license (eleven months and counting since the application).

We’ve even been looking for wood burners for the barn and incredibly both agreed that we liked the same one that we saw in a showroom in Denby Dale, before we turned over the price tag and found it was the most expensive in the shop.

‘Champagne tastes on a beer budget’, I think that sums us up nicely.

The permission that we’d gained at the end of 2010 only allowed us to complete the structural works and didn’t give us permission to bring in the utilities or do any of the fitting out.

All that therefore remained was the fitting of the five natural slate window sills which I had chosen from the stone masons yard in Mondoñedo. Facundo had promised me that they would be in place by the end of the week in which I’d prematurely abandoned the Landy and headed for the airport. When we went back last week he’d been good to his word and they had been installed leaving the site shrouded in the silence of completion.

Windowsills in place

They look even better than I had envisaged when I picked them, and were well worth the 30€ each that they cost (about £24 at today’s exchange rate). Our architect agrees, and after telling us that we should really block the staircase opening up for health and safety reasons, she signed off the works and told us we were fine to pay the builders retention.

Threshold onto the balcony

We’re now into the long waiting game, waiting for our Obras Mayores permission. We put in the application at the beginning of March 2011 and when the architect called the Xunta last week to check on progress all that they would do is confirm that they had received our request.

I’ll never complain about the English planning process again.

That enquiry could mean that we’re back at the bottom of the pile, or it could prompt them into action. In the meantime we are getting quotes for finishing the barn and for making and fitting the doors and windows. This is coupled with plenty of internet research as we try and find (and agree on); a bathroom, a kitchen, a wood burner, and flooring.

The delay is frustrating. All we want to do is bring an old dilapidated building back into use before it falls down. We’ve restored the barn sympathetically, used traditional methods and expensive materials but this seems to count for nothing when the slimy tentacles of bureaucracy take hold.

We signed off the first phase of the barn conversion, met the builder to discuss getting quotes for the second phase and some other works on the property, agreed with the carpenter that he could install the balcony and asked him for a quotation for the windows and doors, and met with the architect who didn’t throw a ‘hissy fit’ at our revised thoughts for the big house and agreed that we could get on with ‘repairing’ its roof (more on all these in later blogs).

We achieved a lot but for the whole week there was an elephant in the room. And that elephant weighs two and a half tons, is sun-bleached blue, has proved to be somewhat temperamental over the last few months, and has an Ifor Williams aluminium back on it.

The pre-Christmas storms and high seas that forced me to cancel my original plans and head home courtesy of EasyJet turned what should have been a pleasant four day inspection visit, punctuated by leisurely meetings with friends over good food and cheap wine, into a week long quest to repatriate the Land Rover via the Santander to Portsmouth ferry.

What made it even worse was that I had to make the two hundred mile journey on my own, with part of my support network back visiting the UK, in a car in which I have absolutely no confidence, and all on Friday the thirteenth.

After a freezing night sleeping in my coat, hat and scarf in Casa Ramon I ate a breakfast which felt more like a last supper, and with a heavy heart packed my worldly possessions into the back of the Landy. After scraping ice off the windscreen and checking she was full of all the important fluids I turned the key more in hope than expectation. But she started within a couple of seconds and we were off.

I listened to every creak and groan for the first half hour, then decided that a loud stereo was the best option as I chugged my way out of Galicia and into Asturias. Fifty miles under our (mine and the Landys) collective belt and out of nowhere the most embarrassing moment of all my time in Spain, I was pulled by the police…for going too slowly!

I’ll never live this one down.

On a single carriageway (in each direction) road, I’d moved over to the right and straddled the hard shoulder to allow an overly-aggressive and impatient HGV driver to pass me unaware that he was being followed by the rozzers, in two police cars. As soon as he’d passed me they turned on their blue lights and indicated for me to pull over. Plod No.1 came to my window while Plod No.2 made a quick disapproving inspection of the Landy.

‘Why did you pull over’, I think he asked.

I decided to go for the sympathy vote and put on my ‘being bullied at school voice’ to tell him in my best Spanish (with the only words I know) ‘It was the big car (HGV) in my downstairs (I keep forgetting the word for behind) and I drive right for big car to pass’. It was sufficient for him to understand. For good measure I added ‘my car is very slow’. He didn’t smile, unlike Galician policemen Asturian policemen don’t smile.

‘Drive more quickly’ he said, and plod No.2 watched the traffic before waving me back onto the carriageway.I think I got off lightly. No need for a document inspection or evidence of my flourescent jacket, spare bulb kit or spare spectacles, and they didn’t seem to hear the wrecked exhaust rasping away while brake fluid, power steering fluid and oil all slowly mingled seeped onto the road underneath me.

I then had a nervous ten kilometres to drive being followed by two police cars and being very conscious not to drive too slowly while keeping within the speed limits. Mercifully they pulled off at the next cafe and I continued my laborious, and uneventful way to Santander.

The promised (by Neil) land, Landy on the far left

Just over five and a half hours after I left the two hundred miles was complete and I arrived at the promised land, promised by my mechanic friend Neil, who’d stopped to wave me off this morning and assured me that she’d ‘make it with no problems’.

All I have left to do is make the two miles to the dockside in the morning. To ensure this I’ve booked a hotel on the edge of town with a downhill run all the way to the port. It’s a ‘Hotel School’ which is used to teach people how to be chefs and hoteliers, and pretty nice it is too at just 55 Euros for the night.

Much better than sleeping in the Landy.

I love my country (and county) of birth, and Amanda and I are not looking to move to Spain out of a dislike 0f UK society, more out of a desire for a different, slower and ultimately healthier life.

We’ve both worked hard for over twenty years and had a good living from UK society, embracing consumerism and all the trappings of being DINKies (double income no kids). We are both coming to the conclusion that material things are decreasingly important to us and that life is about more than amassing ‘stuff’. After two months living in the slow lane of the Iberian backwaters, there are a few observations and contrasts that I can make about British/English life.

• The first few days back home were…’bewildering’. Everything in the UK is done at pace; driving, eating, talking, shopping, drinking alcohol and making decisions. It has taken me a fortnight, and a big scrape down the bumper of my car (requiring a trip to the body shop), for me to get back up to anything like speed.
• There seems to be an awful lot of unplanned and unnecessary death in the UK. Over Christmas there seemed to be a conveyor belt of horrific murders, each one picked apart by a hungry and ghoulish British press and TV media. Don’t get me wrong, there is plenty of death in Spain, but it is usually down to people driving too fast, or on the wrong side of the road. It’s not over a pair of trainers, or because your skin is a different colour!
• I can’t believe the price of fruit and vegetables here. I nearly passed out on my first visit to our regular supermarket. One kilo of apples for £1.85, I was buying a kilo for 70 cents (60p) in Spain…and they tasted like apples there. The same applies to cauliflowers, peppers and mushrooms. It can’t all be down to transport costs and I suspect that it is supermarkets exploiting the consumer as we all strive to follow the governments five-a-day campaign.
• When it rains here you can write off the whole day. In Galicia the rain is usually quickly followed by sunshine giving you the potential for all of the seasons in one day. In winter it never really seems to get light here, no wonder people get SAD.
• The coffee here is awful, insipid, weak and tasteless. To be honest it is close to undrinkable and I’m back on tea, which I never drank in Spain.

We’re back to Spain early in the New Year for various meetings, and I’m staying on for a couple of extra days to hopefully enable me to repatriate the Landrover. I’m already starting to stress about its chances of making the boat in Santander. Perhaps I’m just looking for an excuse to further extend my trip.

Home is where the heart lies, and mine is increasingly lying in Galicia.

I’ve just landed at a Stansted, back on home soil for the first time in two months, three full days ahead of schedule. And it’s freezing!

Late last night I received an e-mail from Brittainy Ferries, quickly followed by an SMS, telling me that Saturday’s sailing from Bilbao to Portsmouth had been cancelled due to bad weather. On phoning the emergency number it turned out that the boat was stuck in England and 9 to 10 metre swell meant that it wouldn’t be in Spain for some days.

I was offered a sailing on the 21st but with no guarantee of that one going ahead there was the chance that I’d be spending Christmas alone in Galicia. That wouldn’t have been popular at home.

I made the decision to get bumped onto a sailing in mid-January, which coincides nicely with Amanda and I visiting to see the architect/builder, and booked myself on this lunchtimes Easyjet flight from Asturias to Manchester.

I had no time to pack, to say goodbye (except to Neil who gave me a lift to the airport), or to prepare myself for re-integrating back into normal life. I did, however, get chance to buy myself a ticket for the ‘El Gordo’ lottery which is held on the 22nd December.

I’ve now got three and a half hours of train journey ahead of me, for which I am paying almost double what it just cost me for the flight!

I need my number to come up on El Gordo to cover the cost of getting home.

Hasta luego España, see you early in the New Year.

Did I mention that it is freezing here!

I’m sad to be leaving and was it not for Amanda and my two moggies back in England I could quite easily place a few phone calls and make arrangements never to return. I’ve had a brilliant time, despite the continual Landy problems, and made some great new friends who have re-inforced my opinion that the decision to move here permanently is the right one.

The main reason to clean site was to enable me to take a few photographs to can send them to our solictor to sort out our insurance, now we have something worth insuring. A nice by-product is that I can share them on the blog to show you how the site looks at the end of the first phase, and advance of the second which should see it through to completion within a few months of us getting our full planning permission through.

The cabazo;