DAYS 2 AND 3: THE JOYS OF AIMLESSNESS

LONDON — The theme-apparent of our life right now is "aimlessness." We got no plans, we got no home. We're just four happy wanderers biding our time until our July 8 entry into Barcelona. But even once we reach our new city, the aimlessness continues: Aaron has no idea what his job will be, and we have no idea how long we'll live abroad. 

All that aimlessness would've presented a real psychological challenge for my former self; right now, I'm just trying to soak it all in. As someone who has uber-planned much of my life, becoming a little directionless is really quite liberating. And it turns out this unexpected 38-day European detour is a really fun manifestation of the aimlessness challenge.

For each of the last two mornings, we set out late with no particular itinerary, and ended up tackling many must-sees on the Anglophile checklist: we gawked at dinosaur bones in the Natural History Museum, gazed up at Big Ben, chased pigeons in Saint James's Park, wondered why "Nutcrackers" are guarding Buckingham Palace, played hide-and-seek in Hyde Park, braved the circus that is Oxford Street, ate lunch at Spitalfields, walked across London Bridge (after making sure it was not actually falling down), rode atop some double-decker buses, and minded many a gap on the Underground. It was aimlessness at its best.

Besides creating no expectations to exceed or fall short of, aimlessness also has another benefit: when things start to get a little meh, you can just re-aim in another direction. We were initially thinking that we'd stay in London for another few days, but (and here comes yet another tourist lodging the same complaint) the weather is bloody awful. We haven't seen the sun since we were still flying above the clouds on Tuesday, and it hasn't warmed past 60; it doesn't make me like London any less, but we didn't leave Boston for nothin'. Next week's forecast for Scotland promises sun and warm temps, so we're going to chase the good weather and hop on a Sunday train to Edinburgh.

as i interrupted her bread and jam eating, She had no idea why i thought it necessary to take a picture of her face.

he was tickled when he realized why i was asking him to hold his hand out like that.

DAY 1: ARRIVAL

LONDON — Day 1 of our nomadic adventure is officially on the books. We arrived this morning, 4 carry-ons, 4 backpacks, 1 stroller, and 2 children in tow. The trip across the pond was uneventful, which is surely the most we could've hoped for. We lucked out and had 6 seats for 4 people, which made it possible for the shortest among us to sleep horizontally. 

We're staying four nights in a lovely and well-located AirBnB in South Kensington. We were relieved when the rental agent let us in, partly because it was a sweet and cozy apartment, partly because it allowed us to escape the 60-degree rain, but mostly because we couldn't wait to lie down in the comfy beds. The agent let us in at 2:00 and we were all asleep by 2:10; our quick catch-up rest accidentally turned into a 5-hour quasi-nap/quasi-nighttime-sleep event for the whole family. Now it's 10:40PM London-time and we aren't entirely sure when we should all go to sleep. The heated game of gelato-fueled "catch" that's happening right now tells me it isn't going to be anytime soon...

WELL THAT WAS UNEXPECTED.

International moves require the careful coordination of two things — relocating boxes and relocating bodies — such that both ideally arrive at their final destination around the same time. Aaron and I spent months carefully planning the sequence of events, and we really thought we'd choreographed it perfectly: our boxes would leave by boat on May 2 for a 4-6 week journey, our selves would leave by air on May 31 for a 12-hour journey, and we'd all reunite in Barcelona in early June.

But an international move that goes off without a hitch would be so boring. What would I blog about if everything went as planned? 

If you'd asked me a week ago which parts of the coordination puzzle — the boxes or the bodies — would most likely go wrong, I would've given you a very confident answer: the boxes were obviously going to be late. Before saying goodbye to our cargo container, I'd made peace with the very real possibility that I might not see our stuff again for 2-3 months. The scheduled delivery date was early- to mid-June, but I knew any delay in Customs could tack on unanticipated extra weeks. Okay fine. Worst case, we'd arrive on June 1 and maybe have to be without furniture for (another) month or two. All part of the game, part of the choice we made. That—that I was ready for. 

But in the end, the boxes weren't the problem: what we're actually facing is an unexpected delay in body relocation.

Turns out it's going to take us longer to get to Spain than our furniture. I won't bore with details, but the issue boils down to taxes and the number of days we'll be in Spain in 2016. Bad things happen if we're there for more than 183 days; as planned, we were going to be there for 214. The overpriced tax advisors we retained in December failed to flag this issue, and it was only thanks to Aaron's poring over Spanish tax code that it was discovered at all. For various reasons, it won't be a problem for 2017, but it would've been a really bad one for 2016. 

The result: We can't afford to enter the country until after July 4.

So now what? We become homeless on Friday (we're turning the keys over to our condo's new owners on May 27) and are booked on a one-way flight from Boston to Barcelona via London next Tuesday (May 31). Can't stay in Brookline, can't land in Spain, so as of today, the plan is to board the Boston-to-London flight, ditch the last leg, and deplane at Heathrow. We booked a BritRail pass and a four-night AirBnB in London, but after that, who knows. The only thing we know for sure is that we'll be traveling around anywhere-but-Spain for the entire month of June and early part of July.

I can't say I was elated when we figured this out; it's surprising, to say the least, to have a tax attorney tell you 11 days before your move that no, in fact, you should not enter Spain as planned. I had my "holy-sh*t-we're-going-to-be-nomads" day of quasi-panic earlier in the week, but I've come around. The adventure just got more adventurey. The logistics of backpacking around Europe [with two small children on <2 weeks' notice] are sure to be complicated (e.g., we can only bring carry-on luggage since our bags would get checked all the way through to Barcelona), but it isn't everyday that you get dropped off in London and told you get to/have to kill 5 or 6 weeks doing whatever you want. 

MOVING RIGHT ALONG

On May 2, five mind-blowingly efficient men spent 9 hours meticulously wrapping and boxing everything we own, loaded it all into a cargo container, and hauled it off to board a Barcelona-bound ship. No turning back now; the move has commenced.

As all of our material possessions cross the Atlantic — fully one month before we do — we're living the simple life back in Brookline. I wasn't sure how living in a near-empty house would feel, but it turns out there are some definite upsides. For starters, it's much easier to maintain a household when there's nothing in it. Additionally, the kids are getting to preview the joys of college living. Highlights include a very low furniture-to-square-footage ratio, a kitchen stocked exclusively with Solo cups and paper plates, and mattresses and televisions that are set up on the floor. 

The best news is that we officially have a new place to call home: we locked down a 4 bedroom apartment in the Sant-Gervasi/Galvany neighborhood. Translation: you now officially have a place to stay in Barcelona and we would love for you to visit.

BEFORE: All ready for the slow boat to Spain. (PS: Can we take a minute to appreciate the mover's impeccably wrapped armchair? Swoon. The guy must kill it with Christmas presents.)

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AFTER: An empty house has become a stage for all kinds of imaginative play. (Not pictured: batting practice, whose-echo-is-loudest competition, interpretative dance meets, and scooter derbies.)

INTERNATIONAL HOUSE HUNTERS

Admission: For solidly half of 2015, Aaron and I binge-watched HGTV's House Hunters International nightly. It was a trite but totally addictive indulgence, and probably would've gone on much longer had Aaron not staged an intervention and declared that it was time to move on. I love real estate/home improvementy stuff; throw in a foreign country and it's all over.

We're not going to be D-list television stars (curiously, the House Hunters production team didn't get wind of our move), but Aaron and I are flying to Barcelona on Sunday to do our own international house hunt. After cringing at so many episodes of HHI, I'm slightly fixated on not becoming "those people" — the bumbling Americans whose average list of "must" haves is ten times longer than the international average, who won't even consider an apartment that lacks Old World Charm, who need both proximity to the city center and silence and serenity, who scoff at European bedrooms sizes and giggle at bidets. (Confirming the basis of my fears, our relocation agent assured us that we'd take taxis from apartment to apartment because she "knows Americans don't like to walk." Oy.) That said, who doesn't appreciate an American-sized refrigerator paired with a little Catalan flare, am I right? 

I've been stalking the Barcelona rental market for 4 months; we sold our condo in January and it's a way for me not to feel homeless. I've fallen in love with at least two dozen places since then, but where we'll end up is a bit of a crapshoot. We've got four basic criteria: a generous outside space, a washer/dryer, 3+ bedrooms, and maybe A/C. Our plan at this point is to have Owen and Eliza share a room and then save the third for guests (that means you). Other than that, who knows. Much as I've tried, marching the little Google Street dude around the neighborhoods of Barcelona just doesn't cut it.  I'm sure we'll know it when we see it.

We land back in the U.S. on Friday, April 29 and our movers are taking away (almost) everything we own on Monday, May 2. We'll see it all again in 4 to 6 weeks at a location that's yet to be determined. I'm surprisingly not that concerned yet; we'll see how that changes when we're all living out of a suitcase for 2 months.