A Guide to Infesting a Spanish House with Fleas
Every day, instead of bettering myself or working on my novel or spending time with my wife and son, I’d be outside catching fleas.
This story is based on my life but I have changed names, certain details, and the timeline.
We Move to Spain
Last year we moved to Begur, a tiny town of about 4,000 people in the Costa Brava region of Spain. We thought we would stay for a year in Begur and afterwards move to Barcelona.
“We’re city people,” my wife and I told each other. “We’re not going to stay here in this small town even though it’s beautiful and charming. We’re going to move to Barcelona because we like big cities, damnit.”
We planned to stay with my in-laws in their house in Begur for a few weeks or a month until we found a house or apartment for the rest of our time in Begur.
So after we Marie Kondo’d our belongings in Brooklyn and packed everything that sparked joy in an outrageously-priced forty foot shipping container (which ended up being way too big), we flew to Barcelona with our six checked bags and two cats and moved in with mis suegros in Begur. (Yes, I’m pretty much fluent now.)
