It was September of 2023 that I fell in love. With Spain. Actually, I fell in love with Spain the first time I visited which was roughly 100 years ago after I graduated from college. Back then there was no earthly way I’d ever have been able to live here legally, so, like many a dreamer, I shed a few tears, mourned the loss, and pretended that I didn’t really care about this dream anyway.
Cut to: Me on vacation in Spain twenty-something years later professing my undying love to the country and begging its forgiveness for having pretended I didn’t care. After two weeks and four cities in Spain, I knew I could live here, I wanted to live here. And not just for the wine and tapas (okay, mostly for the wine and tapas). The question was: How?
In this blog, I’m going to tell you how I made my dream a reality. The story is a little long, so I’ll break it up into sections:
Part 1: Moving to Spain (this one)
Part 2: Arriving in Spain
Adjusting to Life in Spain — an ongoing series of shorter posts
I’m Moving to Spain!
Once I got back from my vacation to Spain in early October 2023, I reached out to a Spanish immigration lawyer. In my research prior my trip, I had read articles and blogs and watched videos, and one resource came up a few times, especially on Mapping Spain (who partnered with this company): Balcells Group.
In my consultation call with one of their lawyers, I discovered that I checked all the boxes for the (newly launched – as of January 2023) Digital Nomad Visa, which was created for freelancers and remote workers. So I immediately got to work gathering all the required documents.
Okay, not immediately. To be completely honest, I spent a few weeks listening to the verbal boxing match in my head that was sparring to the tune of: You can do this! There’s no fucking way you can do this! But a friend of mine had recently moved from the States to Portugal, and it was the conversation with him – in which I grilled him like a noir film detective – that convinced me that I, too, could pull off a major feat like this. His move (which he did on his own as well) made it real and doable for me, and finally silenced my inner critic that I could never achieve a dream this big.
Also, I kept telling myself: I’m just gathering documents. It doesn’t mean I’m actually going to move across an ocean to a whole new continent and to a country whose language I don’t really speak.
By early November 2023 I doubled down on my 1:1 Spanish lessons with my amazing teacher Laura. Then I created a checklist of what I had to send to my immigration lawyer:
Full copy of my passport
Criminal records from the FBI, apostilled and translated
My CV (résumé)
Bachelor's degree OR letter from my client(s)/employer confirming I have been working for them for at least 3 years
Services contract between me and my client(s)
My last 3 invoices
My last 3 bank statements (showing the income payments)
Article of Incorporation certificate of my client(s) (to show that they’re legitimate companies and not just my mom who pays me to reprogram her TV whenever she hits the wrong button), translated into Spanish
Sworn declaration that I will register myself as freelancer in Spain
Plus, my lawyer kindly reminded me that I had to make a minimum salary per year of €32,000 (USD $35,377) and no more than 20% of my clients can be Spanish. That’s to ensure that I’m not taking jobs away from Spanish citizens.
Everything on the list was pretty easy – except one thing: getting my criminal records from the FBI.
FBI Records
Getting my criminal records from the FBI wasn’t difficult because I had a rap sheet as long as a CVS receipt. It also wasn’t the ordeal that my immigration lawyer mentioned – that it could take up to three months to receive these records. It was a pain in the ass because of the United States Post Office.
What does the post office have to do with criminal records (besides the typical “wanted” poster we all remember from cartoons and ‘40s movies)? Well, your criminal records require your fingerprints (regardless of whether you’ve provided the government with your unchanged fingerprints twice before), and the USPS is apparently the only agency in the whole entire country that the federal government trusts <pause for snickers> to provide this service.
There is only one post office in all of Los Angeles with a digital fingerprinting machine. This immediately inspired a huge, defeated sigh from me. It’s in Los Feliz (a neighborhood in L.A.) and it’s walk-in only, no appointments. So one day I walked in, only to be told that their fingerprint machine was broken that day. A few days later I returned and the soulless postal clerk hunched over in his seat trying to find the will to go on said that they only do fingerprinting up until 2:30 pm and it was now 4 pm.
“That would have been helpful information to receive the last time I was here,” said I with reigned-in sarcasm.
A week later, I went back, only to be told that their fingerprint machine was…wait for it…broken that day.
“Come back tomorrow,” said the expressionless woman in the navy blue vest as if I had taken the last donut in the break room or something.
“Ok, well what’s the phone number here? I’ll call before making the thirty-minute drive. Again.”
“Can’t,” she said. “We don’t have a phone number.”
“You’re telling me that this post office, this place of business, doesn’t have a phone number??”
“Well, we have a phone number. It’s just that no one ever answers the phone. So if you call, it’ll just ring and ring and ring.”
I stared at her. “How about an email?”
She shook her head.
“Fax?”
She shook her head. “Try again tomorrow.”
“Oh I won’t be trying again tomorrow,” I told her, “considering that this is my third time at this location.” I tried, I really tried, not to kick the door open on my way out.
So I thought fuck it and drove straight to Glendale – a whole other city – which was the next closest USPS with a digital fingerprinting machine. It was in the passport section of the post office, a room at the far end of the hall outside of which a bunch of people were lined up. A grouchy lady (what is it with USPS workers?) opened the door and barked at everyone to have their documentation and appointment confirmation number ready or they would not be let in. When I got to the head of the line and told her that I was there to get digital fingerprints, she eyeballed me for an uncomfortably long time, then sighed deeply and told me to go in and sit in the far corner.
Feeling like a misbehaving child, I entered the room where everyone else was sitting in two neat rows of chairs, and went to sit at the desk in the furthest corner from the door. It was far enough away and took me a long enough time to cross the room that everyone turned to watch me. Grouchy lady came in, took a seat at her desk, and suddenly shouted at me: “The other corner!!” As the other eight nervous-looking people in the room stared at me, I walked over to the other corner and called out with a smile, “There are two far corners over here!”
After about ten minutes, a very friendly woman (must be a temp) came over to get my fingerprints. After each set (four left fingers, four right fingers, two thumbs), the machine gave a green signal (meaning it worked) or a red signal (meaning it didn’t work), so I had to try a couple times to get the machine to register my prints. After five tries in total, I had nine green marks and just one red mark. The (very sympathetic) woman said, “That’s it. You only get five tries. Come back on Friday to do it all over again.”
???????????????????????
What the actual fuck? The government, the same body that runs an entire country, can only receive five digital fingerprint attempts before shutting down for twenty-four hours?? As I crossed the room to the door, I heard a strange sound…something I hadn’t heard for a long time…. Ah, yes. The sweet sound of dial-up internet (look it up, kids!). How fitting.
Two days later, I returned to the Glendale post office – my fifth attempt to get these damn fingerprints – and thank god it worked. I paid the $50 (plus the initial $18 just to request them from the FBI), got a receipt and drove back to Los Angeles. By the time I got home, I had an email from the FBI with a copy of my rap sheet. And yes, it actually said “rap sheet” on the document. And no, I have no criminal activity on record. Yet.
Move to Spain Masterclass
After I sent all the required documents to my immigration lawyer in early December 2023, I got an email from her letting me know that she was going on vacation for a few weeks, leaving me with the directive: “Thanks for your documents. Please get the Apostille for the FBI criminal check and the Article of Incorporation for your clients.”
I immediately wrote back: “What does Apostille mean? How do you do this?? Where do you do this???”
In response, I got an “Out of Office” message. Three weeks later she returned, and then a week after that, the whole office was out for the holidays. Get used to Spanish schedules, my Spanish teacher Laura advised me.
Despite working with an immigration lawyer and a relocation expert (more on that later), I decided to take James Blick’s Spain Revealed Move to Spain Masterclass for extra, well-rounded help, knowledge and support.
I came across this 8-week course because I was already a fan of James’ Spain Revealed YouTube channel in which he and his wife Yoly provide tips and recommendations on all things Spain in a very engaging and fun way.
Source: Move to Spain Masterclass
The Masterclass includes eight detailed videos by James on: a realistic timeline for when to start planning, practical budgeting (including a detailed template you get), deciding on which city to move to, how renting or buying works, taxes, banking, working in Spain, healthcare – and it doesn’t stop there. He also goes over what to keep in mind once you arrive and get set up and, finally, how to actually live like a local.
Plus you receive a resource document with a long list of recommended professionals who have agreed to be listed (and many of them participate in specific video webinars led by James and attended by those in the class, so you can ask the professionals more questions). And there’s a private Facebook Group for participants of this course, so you can get further support from others going through the same thing (physically and emotionally). James answers any questions you have on this platform.
Source: Move to Spain Masterclass
Sending in the Documents
In the beginning of 2024, my immigration lawyer was finally back in the office, and answered my question about apostilling my FBI record. An "Apostille" is a certification provided under the Hague Apostille Convention of 1961, which is part of the Hague Conference on Private International Law (HCCH), for authenticating documents for use in foreign countries. This certification makes the document legally valid and recognized in all member countries of the convention (including, of course, the U.S. and Spain).
She sent me a list of official companies in the States, and I went with Monument Visa Service. They told me that it would take 2-4 weeks to process my apostille application. I sent in my request on December 31, 2023 and received the apostilled document via FedEx on January 16, 2024. Then I got the Articles of Incorporation for each of my current clients from the website of the Secretary of State where the companies are incorporated (i.e. the state in which they were formed into a legal company). In this case, they were all conveniently Californian. So then I went to the Secretary of State’s office in L.A. to get them apostilled (these documents had to be apostilled by the Secretary of State).
The final step was getting all these documents professionally translated into Spanish. Since I didn’t know any professional translators, my Spanish lawyer used a service in her country.
And then, finally, at long last, I sent everything to my lawyer. When she emailed back that all my documents looked good, I booked a flight to Spain and on March 6, 2024 flew there to beg the government to accept me into their fine country. Well, actually my lawyer did that on my behalf. Without the begging part.
Why did I fly 5,814 miles (9,357 km) to apply for the Digital Nomad Visa when there was a Spanish Consulate 0.7 miles (1.1 km) from my home? Well, not only is this particular consulate notoriously hard to get a hold of to make an appointment, but they only issue this visa for one year, whereas if you apply in Spain, you’ll get a three-year visa. And if I’m going to make such a gigantic move, I’d prefer to have at least three years guaranteed of living there.
I should mention at this point that I hadn’t told anyone about this crazy plan of mine – aside from a few people out of necessity, like my friend who’d moved to Portugal whom I grilled, Laura, my Spanish teacher because I had specific questions about living in Spain, and my mom because she wanted to plan a trip to visit me in L.A. around this time. I didn’t mean to be secretive, it’s just that up until this point I wasn’t 100% sure that I was actually going to move. Or rather: Up until this point I was afraid I’d chicken out and not go through with it. So I didn’t want to tell everyone I’m moving to Spain!! and then if I didn’t, for the next year field So when are you moving to Spain?? queries.
Once I’d booked my plane ticket to go to Spain for the application process, I started having minor but distressing panic attacks as I lay in bed at night. My imagination is so vivid that I was picturing so clearly and feeling so intensely what it would be like to actually leave my apartment, city, country, continent, language, familiar way of life!!!! and start over in a new country all by myself.
I Got the Visa!!!
On April 3, 2024 I received my Digital Nomad Visa!!!
Source: Nairametrics
From the date you submit your application, the government has 20 working days to respond to it, so in less than a month you will get an answer one way or another. And, my lawyer informed me, no answer is considered a yes. By the way, the 20-day response time applies specifically to in-country Digital Nomad Visa applications made from within Spain. If you apply for the DNV at a Spanish consulate in your home country, the processing time is longer.
In my case, even with the Easter holiday, they came in two days under the wire!
This is when actual reality kicked in and I started sorting and packing my belongings. But it’s like my mind was split into two people: One who knew all about this move (researched, planned, hired pros, took Masterclass), and the other who was still going about her life like nothing had changed. So during the first week or so, I’d be packing and then I’d go into the kitchen to make tea or to the bathroom to expel the tea, and then I’d return to the living room, be surprised to see all those moving boxes, and shriek, “Holy shit!! Am I actually moving to a whole other continent?!?!?!”
I booked a one-way (gulp) ticket for June 4, 2024 to Madrid, Spain, as well as two weeks in an Airbnb. Now that it was a concrete reality, I told all my friends and family. As predicted, those who don’t live in L.A. were surprised but thrilled, and those who do live in L.A. were surprised but thrilled, and sad.
Funny, it was after I’d booked this plane ticket that the minor but distressing panic attacks stopped. I think my brain finally said, Aw shit, if you’re actually moving, I’d better give it a rest. I can’t keep this up forever.
Reducing My Life to 5 Suitcases
How do you pack up a whole life after 16 years in one apartment and 24 years in one city?!?!
Trying to figure out what to take, store in L.A., or sell/give away was much harder than I anticipated. I had a small apartment and never thought of myself as attached to “things,” but some of those “things” apparently meant a lot to me. For instance, my 500+ books, my 150+ DVDs (look it up, kids!), especially the box sets with full discs of bonus content, my fluffy duvet….
Reducing my new life to five suitcases (and yes, there are only four in this picture).
When I did the math on shipping these “things” across the pond, I decided instead to just take what I could carry. Part of my reasoning was the shipping cost, but a bigger part of that was the enticing idea of starting fresh. Whenever I’ve moved somewhere new, I always chuck/give away a bunch of stuff. It makes it easier to dive into my new life without the shackles of my old one.
So I paid $635 in advance to check four suitcases (an additional suitcase and a knapsack I’d carry on), which seems expensive until you compare it to the alternative: Pay a shipping company $2,600+ (that’s the very base amount; it, of course, goes up depending on how much stuff you ship) and wait a month or two for it to go through customs.
The only quandary was figuring out how to lug these suckers from apartment to Lyft, from Lyft to check-in counter, from baggage claim to taxi, from taxi to Airbnb…. Oh well, that would be Future Selena’s problem.
My IKEA bookshelf turns out to be a collector’s item!
As I sorted my belongings into “take” and “sell” boxes (funny how much smaller my apartment looked without all my crap in it), I started listing things on Facebook Marketplace (free and easy). I met some lovely people who were looking for just the things that I was selling, and I was happy to give parts of my old life to these new owners. This is when I became really nostalgic, like when I sold my bookshelf and teared up at the blank wall. But on a positive note, I accidentally discovered that this 16-year-old, $25 IKEA bookshelf was now a collector’s item and got $400 for it!
On May 1st I started calling companies to cancel services and subscriptions. Trying to find where/how to cancel on a bunch of websites (internet, health insurance, dental insurance, Prime) was a clusterfuck of incompetence. Do you really think if you make it hard for me to cancel I’ll just stay with your service forever????
Note: Mere days after canceling some of these services, I began to get sales emails to sign up for the same services! And now, three months later, I’m still getting bills for two of the services — even though I canceled on the phone with a human being! Jeez louise….
It’s funny because now that I was moving and freely telling people, there were a lot of folks who said they were going to be sad to see me go. And not just friends, but even my favorite baristas at the local Starbucks (one of whom teared up and said he’ll miss my smiling face), my hairdresser, and the awesome bartender at my neighborhood watering hole. The last time I went to this bar, the bartender said that she'd miss me, this quiet, friendly “Canadian in the corner” who always got two glasses of Merlot and left before it got crowded. She announced that I was moving to Spain to the whole bar, who all raised a glass and shouted “Cheers!” She also gave me three free shots and then when I was about to leave came around the counter and gave me a tight, long hug. She said so many wonderful things about me (and here I was thinking nobody noticed me much) that I teared up and said I had to leave because “There’s no crying in bars!”
On the morning of my departure, my landlord came over to return my security deposit. He said he would genuinely miss me, gave me a hug, and said if I ever returned to L.A. and needed a place to stay to call him.
Then one of my friends picked me up to take me to the airport, which solved two of my travel conundrums: He helped me carry my bags to his car and, upon parking at LAX, we got two trollies on which to load my life. He then waited with me in line to check in. I was very grateful for that. I’m used to doing everything by myself, which means I often forget to ask for help (Oh right, you can do that??), but because my emotions were flying high, it felt really comforting to have a good friend by my side during my last few (emotional) hours in this country.
Source: Unsplash
When we got to the part where he couldn’t go any further without a ticket, we hugged tightly and I started crying. At the top of the escalators I looked down and waved to him one last time. A few minutes later when I got into the security line, I wiped my eyes and fought back my tears, worried that the security guards and their dogs would find me suspicious. (Ok, not really. More like I didn’t want to embarrass myself.)
This was it. This was finally it. I was really, truly moving to Spain. Leaving everything and everyone behind. Leaving my small “safe” bubble, all things familiar, and my default language to step into the unknown, the unfamiliar, with my whole life reduced to five suitcases and a knapsack.
Click here to read Living the Dream Part 2: Arriving in Spain
Note: All photos taken or created (using DALL-E) by Selena Templeton, unless otherwise noted.
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