2019 Plan B: Casanova

After almost 5 years of screwing around with the Tamarit flat, the developers were told that -- even though they had permission to build -- they would not be given permission to erect the scaffolding necessary to construct the additional floor and, therefore, our flat! All that time, design work, and money wasted. 

We decided to start over, this time looking for a place that already existed. We had visited and explored so many times that we found some neighborhoods we liked, and others we didn't enjoy as much. El Gótico was charming with its tiny twisted streets, but it was so full of tourists that it seemed most of the shops were just selling T-Shirts and bongs. El Born seemed a bit too hip for old farts like us. Poble Nou felt a bit flat, despite its attractive restaurant-filled Rambla. Gracia had a good vibe, but seemed a little disconnected, like an oasis. We wanted to be close to the old part of town, but walking distance to the Med. Sant Antoni, Poble Sec, parts of El Raval had the old feel, with real shops and non-touristic restaurants.

On April 21-22, 2019 I flew to Barcelona to meet Gicu, who we'd worked with years earlier; he flew in from Romania for a whirlwind tour of places to look at. I gave myself a week to look and decide, and a week to get purchase paperwork sorted. I probably saw about 20 properties, and sent descriptions, features and photos to Irene who was in Scotland helping her parents move.  Pretty quickly, I was able to narrow down what we wanted: the critical thing was outdoor space, on the same walk-out level, rather than stairs to a roof deck; we're not getting any younger, and any separation discourages use. 

On April 26, I made an offer on a sobreático (rooftop) place on Casanova just off the major Gran Vía de las Cortes Catalanas, 2 blocks from El Gótico, just inside L'Esquerra de l'Eixample, the left half of the "modern" extension with gridded streets, cut corners, and cafes and shops everywhere.  The selling feature is a large terrace with a view of Montjüic and its castle and the Museu National d'Art de Catalunya (MNAC). If we stand on the terrace bench, we can see the iconic "W" hotel, a glimpse of the Med; 180 degrees to the right, we can see the edge of Tibidabo's temple, but sadly, the view of the amusement rides is occluded by an fugly 1970s building. 

 

 

It's a one bedroom with back dressing room that can be coerced into a guest room with an air bed, two bathrooms, and open kitchen and living room. The interior is all black, with interior walls of glass, and zero privacy -- fine for a couple, difficult for guests. 

 

 

On May 2, I met with the developer for the Tamarit flat and secured a refund of the earnest money we had committed to in 2015, then went directly to the Casanova seller's agents to sign the Arras (commitment) and put down a pile of money to hold it. Legal contracts seem much less convoluted in Spain than in the US. On May 5, I flew home: mission accomplished... but we still had to complete the purchase.

On July 27-28, I flew back to Barcelona, after transferring enough money to complete the Casanova purchase. On the 29th, I got a big bank check, then went to the notary's office to sign the paperwork and get the keys. 

Annette was the first visitor to see the flat on August 2, and Irene arrived a couple days later. We spent the month of August fixing tons of things: electric outlet boxes that were held to the wall with hot glue (we bought a hammer drill),  AC filter that was clogged with 5 years of Sahara dust (duh, really improved the airflow), skanky oven hood vents, replaced almost all the now-dead lightbulbs. I ended up getting an Amazon Prime 30-day trial so I could get esoteric parts in quickly, since most of the hardware stores (ferreterias) were closed for the August holiday. 

We spent the month of August exploring, eating at Michelin-starred Enigma, pursuing residency permits, enjoying the joyful weirdness of Gracia-fest, taking a bus up the Costa Brava to meet Ann and Paul and the family in the beautiful Calella de Palafrugell, inviting Helena and Pol for dinner on our terrace, getting in a plumber to solve drain problems (we learned the word "chapuza"), and meeting with our tenant who would rent the place for a year.

COVID put the kibosh on returning a year later: borders closed, I couldn't pick up my residency permit, so we extended the tenant's lease on a monthly basis until we figured we could move. As Robert Burns wrote:

The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain
For promis'd joy.