When we returned the keys to Zvonka's office on Monday, she told us to meet her and the seller on Tuesday morning at the house in Goce. We would sign the final papers there and the property would be mine. Words can't adequately describe my feelings of excitement, joy and trepidation. Was this all really happening?
That night, Running Man (RM) and I started to pack up our things at Edbin's apartment, anticipating our impending departure. The next morning, we headed down to Goce. I had an appointment with Fate.
Zvonka, Mr. M. and his wife were there when we arrived. As we greeted one another, I noticed that we were all wearing big, almost stupid, smiles on our faces. Mr. M. seemed thrilled to be selling the place and, frankly, happy he was selling it to me. RM had told him about my dream and he seemed glad that he was somehow playing a part in it. Mrs. M. looked the happiest of all. When I commented on this later, RM snickered that she probably already had the money spent. Zvonka's smile expressed her delight in being the one who delivered this little piece of paradise to me. We had spent a lot of time together and despite the language barrier, we'd learned much about each other. She had treated me well and I was very grateful to her.
Zvonka had arranged multiple copies of the final papers on the kitchen table. She walked through the documents paragraph by paragraph with RM translating. Part of the closing process was the witnessing by all parties of the electric and water meter readings and a final walk-through of the property. I had few questions at this stage of the game, so I just kept initialing and signing as instructed by Zvonka via RM. The phrase "signing my life away" popped into my brain more than once. While that saying was accurate in some ways, I preferred to view this experience not as signing away my life but as signing up for a new one. A much better one.
During the meter-examination phase, Mrs. M. and I made small talk. I told her about seeing a couple of small scorpions in the wine cellar. She grimaced and told me that they often came inside when it rained.
"Into the cellar?" I asked.
"And in the house," she replied with a shiver.
"Yikes!" I thought, making a mental note to research the toxicity of a Slovenian scorpion sting.
We were standing under the grape arbor in the courtyard. It was heavy with juicy red grapes. I plucked one from above my head and popped it into my mouth, closing my eyes as I chewed slowly. I savored the flavor of it. It was, after all, my grape. Well, almost.
We all walked back into the house where one more signature line awaited for Mr. M. and me -- the proverbial "bottom line." He signed one copy as I signed the other, then we grinned at each other as we swapped copies to sign them. I might have been holding my breath as I signed because I was suddenly aware of the extreme exhalation of air coming from deep inside of me as I put the pen down on the table. Everyone was still smiling. Mr. M. then pulled the keys from his pocket and in an exaggerated gesture, swiped them through the air and handed them to me.
"Hvala lepa, hvala lepa," I repeated, shaking his hand with vigor. "Thank you very much."
Never without a camera, RM wanted to document the momentous occasion so we re-enacted the key exchange in front of my new home.
I now owned a house in a foreign country where I couldn't speak the language and knew just a handful of people, only half of whom could speak English. Missouri was very, very far away. Rather than be overwhelmed by the enormity of the life-altering decision I had just consummated, I did what any red-blooded American girl would do. I went shopping.
Topping the list were cleaning supplies, the European version of a shop-vac and a new toilet seat. There was nothing wrong with the toilet so it would stay, but the seat would be new. I've spent much of my adult life renting apartments and houses and the first thing I've always done is buy a new toilet seat. I guess it's like marking my territory in a sanitary kind of way.
Also on my list were pillows, bed linens and towels, and a couple of electric heaters. It was October, after all, and the nights were getting chilly. The only heat in the house would come from the wood stove in the little dining area. There was some wood in the barn and the stove had been used fairly recently, so I hoped I wouldn't have a flue fire or anything catastrophic. Finally, of course, I had to get a coffeemaker and beans because my morning coffee is a necessity. There was an old electric grinder in the cabinet that still worked, although it was tough to find an electric coffeemaker that didn't cost an arm and a leg. RM called it "American coffee" which I guess is to distinguish it from the strong and thick Turkish coffee most people made here. The apartment in Lokve had a coffee carafe but no coffee maker, so I'd been placing a paper towel in a metal sieve placed on top of the carafe, adding ground coffee and pouring boiling water through it slowly. My method worked, but my new home would have at least one modern convenience.
We shopped in Slovenia and Italy, making a trip to the massive Ikea outside of Gorizia. I'd never been to an Ikea before so it was yet another first for me. But you can't be an American and not experience a sense of familiarity in any huge warehouse-type of store. I was confident that my first trip there would not be my last.
Our final stop was at the little grocery store in Vipava. There would be no more eating out for awhile so we bought enough staples for a week or so, including boxed milk and a dozen small sausages I couldn't even pronounce.
We deposited the groceries in the kitchen and the rest of our shopping spoils in the middle room in Goce. We also brought in some of the items RM had in his car, including the grilling equipment and supplies he kept in a large handled bag. It was convenient for grilling along the Soca River. Now, we would put it to work in the courtyard until I had time to wash all of the dishes and clean the stove.
We spent our last night in Lokve and the next morning, filled RM's car with luggage and wound our way down to the Vipava Valley then up to Goce. I was dressed for a day of intense cleaning. I couldn't wait to start throwing things away then scrub everything from top to bottom, inside and out. I needed to know that when I found dirt somewhere, it was my dirt and not someone else's. As particular as I am about that kind of thing, RM is, perhaps, even more so. He dove into our first day of cleaning with a vengeance. I walked into the bathroom once to ask if I could use it and found that he'd removed the large plastic and mirrored medicine chest from the wall and had it immersed in a tubful of bleach, water and suds. By the end of Day 1, we'd depleted two gallons of bleach but had finished cleaning only the bathroom, entry and kitchen. Despite the fact that this was basically a three-room house, we had a lot of territory still to cover.
I couldn't sleep that night and it wasn't just because of the air mattress. The wind had picked up outside and I was awake, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of my new, very old house. I think that every house has its own unique rhythm. In the quiet of the night, the house was speaking to me, telling me about itself with every hum, shuffle, bump, whisper and groan. I listened in silence, familiarizing myself with each nuance and understanding that soon, I would know this place well and its hearbeat would start to lull me to sleep at night rather than keep me from it. We would become good friends, comfortable with one another, respectful of each other and content to grow old together.
As I started to drift off to sleep, I hoped the same would hold true for RM and me.
I spent less than two days in Spain but what an incredible experience. Running Man (RM) was finishing his time with the Count and Countess for whom he'd worked before. His job there was part concierge, part physical therapist, part friend. When the Count and Countess wanted to attend a concert or social event, he coordinated that. When the Countess wanted to swim in her icy cool pool in the mornings, he helped her in, assisted her with aquatic exercises, then helped her out. He took daily walks with the Count who called them "our walks to Paris and back."
The Count and Countess were both becoming increasingly frail, and RM enjoyed spending as much time with them as he could. He'd met them several years before while guiding a tour they were taking, and they'd stayed good friends ever since.
I admit that I was somewhat intimidated about meeting them. They are people of influence and means in Spain and I'm just an average middle-class American. I hoped I wouldn't embarrass myself or my nation. I've met national leaders, celebrities and even President Bill Clinton while working on his press advance team. But these were titled people and that put them into a different category.
RM kept telling me to not be nervous and he was right. As soon as I met them, I realized that they were kind and gracious people and, well, normal. That is, if normal people have multiple homes, wealth and influence. I stopped thinking about their titles and lifestyle and just thought about them as being warm people, welcoming me to their home. (Okay, one of their homes.)
The Countess herself gave me the tour of their lovely villa in the northern Spanish countryside of Puicerda, near Andorra and the French border. Her father had built this home. He had been smart, innovative and made a fortune by using both of these traits to introduce penicillin to Spain. Imagine that. Being the one person who brought a life-saving pharmaceutical to an entire country. RM told me this, not the Countess. But a blind person could see the pride she had for her father as we walked through a villa filled with the inventions he had put into the house, long before their time. I was awestruck by communications devices and electrical systems, the tiny elevator and the massive gasoline-powered stove moved from a ship to the middle of the villa's kitchen. I was fascinated by the observatory at the very top of the house with its star-painted ceiling and huge telescope. I was simultaneously saddened by the disrepair in some of the house. I couldn't imagine how much money it would take to restore this phenomenal home to its original grace, and doubted their children or grandchildren wanted to make the investment. Were I wealthy, I would have done it in an instant and opened the doors to show the world her father's brilliance.
Biography has been one of my favorite literary genres since I read a paperback about Helen Keller that I bought through the Weekly Reader in elementary school. I was hooked on reading about the lives of others ever since, and as a writer, I've always wanted to research and write about the life of someone significant. If I could do such a book about the Count and Countess, their families and their own marvelous love story, I would die happy. But they are very private people and I would not intrude upon that for the sake of a book. But perhaps someday, when they are gone, when I have time to conduct the research, and if I could get the blessing of their children, I just might consider sharing what must be a fabulous story with the world. Another dream for me.
The villa was a place where we dressed for dinner, had cocktails on the terrace overlooking the pool, mountains and horses, then moved into the formal dining room where wonderfully attentive staff served us a four-course meal. For this Midwest American farm girl, it was the stuff of British novels and Hollywood movies. "Dorothy," I thought silently to myself, "You sure aren't in Kansas any more."
The Count and Countess introduced me to some family members who were visiting, including a niece who was beautiful, very talkative and has led a rather intriguing life. They all spoke English for my benefit, although I tried to follow their Spanish. While RM admits his fluency in many languages, Spanish isn't one of them. I'm convinced that people who speak several languages like he does have a genetic propensity for this gift. I'd taken Spanish in both high school and college and he could talk circles around me, having just "picked it up" during his time around the Count and Countess. RM had spoken Spanish to me before and I'd poked fun at him because he sounded like he was speaking the language with a pronounced lisp. I would say "buenos dias" and he would say "buenth diath." When I listened to the conversation around the table, that's exactly what I heard. I guess it's not unlike learning English in the United Kingdom then hearing a bunch of Americans speaking. To paraphrase an old saying, the United States and England are two countries separated by a language. Apparently, the same applied to other countries that speak the same language. I tentatively used a little of my Mexican/Costa Rican Spanish but felt extremely self-conscious with my pronunciation among all of these native speakers. And when I head a little Catalan, a regionally unique language that seems to combine, among other things, Spanish and French, I was utterly lost but fascinated.
The Count and Countess were leaving on Thursday for their home in Switzerland -- a much cooler place to spend one's summer. RM and I were headed to Slovenia via southern France and Monaco, through northern Italy and back to Edbin's apartment in Lokve where we would stay until I had the keys to the "new" house in Goce. During our long drive, RM and I talked about our hopes, dreams and ideas about this huge change in our lives. I was living a dream and kept praying that I wouldn't wake up and find myself back in a dead marriage in small-town Missouri.
Edbin and his mother were happy to have us back and excited by the fact that I was buying a home in Slovenia. They welcomed RM and me back like we were family, and Edbin's mom smiled joyfully at my few clumsy conversational words in Slovene. Slovenia is a very small country with its own language, and a difficult one at that. The mere fact that I attempt to speak their language brings a smile to the faces of people there. The fact that I might be butchering the hell out of it doesn't really matter; only the fact that I'm making the attempt. Thank goodness.
I was nervous. This time it wasn't about meeting influential and titled people. After all, I was in a country of peasants here and, frankly, I was much more comfortable among them. They are my kind of folk. I was nervous because I was buying a home in a foreign country. Who wouldn't have a jitter or two? I wanted to sign the papers, transfer the money and move in. I could deal with the inevitable buyer's remorse later. I also didn't want to put out any more money to stay in the apartment. My budget was tight so I needed to stop paying rent.
RM and I drove to Ajdovscina on Friday. I needed to open a bank account so I could have the money from my U.S. account wired there. I wanted to wire it to my own account this time, convert Dollars to Euros, then pay precisely what I owed. I opened my non-resident account at a local bank where the tellers seemed pleased to use their English. It's not every day that some Americanka walks in to open an account. I immediately contacted my bank and asked them to wire the money to my brand-spanking-new account. Then, we walked over to Zvonka's office to tell her that I was here, had put the wire transfer into motion and to ask her what was next. Zvonka was happy to see us again and told us to come back on Tuesday to sign papers and make the final payment. RM would have the dubious honor of keeping me occupied for the next three days as I anxiously awaited closing the deal. Making my financial matters worse was the growing Dollar-to-Euro conversion rate. It had shot from $1.25 to one Euro to more than $1.44. While that may not be a lot when you're converting $100 to Euros, when you're converting Dollars to 88,000 Euros, you choke on the difference. I would have to pay between $16,000 and $17,000 more now than under the conversion rate available when I made the down payment. I had budgeted for the balance, realtor's fees and a few extra dollars. Now, I would struggle to just pay the balance owed. I was frustrated and angry but knew that I couldn't control the conversion rate. One of the things I've learned in dealing with adversity in my life is that it's acceptable to stress over the things you can control, but it's futile to stress about the things you can't. For example, in planning public events for more than 25 years, I learned a long time ago that you can stress about everything except the weather. Despite your experience and expertise in event planning, you cannot control the weather, so why worry about it? All you can do is plan your event for both good weather and for bad then deal with Mother Nature that day. There was nothing I could do about the conversion rate. I would just have to suck it up and transfer the money. Then, I could turn my attention to how I would pay Zvonka's fees, taxes and everything else I would have to spend money on to start establishing my new home.
I was more worked up about the fact that the sellers were vacationing in Croatia. They would be back on Tuesday to sign the final papers and relinquish the keys. Until then, I would have to keep paying rent for Edbin's apartment. Not a great thing when I now had barely enough money to pay the balance on the house, let alone for an apartment.
I had RM ask her if she would take us back to see the property. I wasn't backing out, I joked, but I really wanted to see it again. Zvonka handed me the key and told RM to return it on Monday. I just stared at it in my hand, two keys, one for the gate and one for the door, attached to a ring with an Eiffel Tower charm. I couldn't believe she was just giving me the keys before the sale was final. The scene from the movie, "Under the Tuscan Sun," ran through my mind. In it, the Italian woman hands Diane Lane a huge skeleton key before the money has been transferred and the sale finalized. The woman tells her they'll take care of the rest later and says sardonically, "It's a house. What are you going to do, steal it?"
RM and I set off immediately for Goce. I couldn't get there fast enough. Despite the fact that I had now been to the village several times, I was as enchanted with it again as I was the very first time I had seen it. RM's sister-in-law had told me before that there was something magic about Goce, and I couldn't agree with her more. The house also still held the same magic for me. Mr. M. obviously had been there, clearing out the items he was taking and cleaning up a bit. Still, it looked mostly the same as it had before and RM and I explored every nook and cranny a little more closely than we had during previous visits. I didn't have to feel like I was snooping now; the house was virtually mine. The courtyard flora was starting to wane a bit but the view down into the valley, with the hillside vineyards heavy with grapes just before harvest, was just as breathtaking as I remembered.
When preparing for my return to Slovenia, I had forseen the fact that I would have no bed when I moved into the house. So, I had packed an air mattress, a battery-operated pump and basic linens. Now that I had the keys for the weekend, RM and I decided we'd camp out there on Saturday night. We returned to Lokve to make plans and pack a few things, then headed out Saturday morning to buy groceries and cleaning supplies. Since the house wasn't technically mine yet, RM and I sneaked in quietly, opening both gates and driving the car into the courtyard.
He volunteered to handle the bathroom while I took kitchen duty. He turned on the water heater and starting cleaning. I turned on the water heater above the sink, plugged in a fridge, pulled on rubber gloves and went to work. Mr. M. had actually left the place pretty clean so it didn't take us long before we were ready to open a bottle of wine and prepare a fabulous dinner of mussels and leeks. We ate at the concrete table in the courtyard, under a canopy of stars. We marveled at the fact that although we were sitting in the village, we felt completely and utterly alone. It was magical, and I couldn't stop fearing that I would wake up from what simply had to be a dream.
As it turns out, I wasn't dreaming. In fact, I was awake most of the night. The air mattress, while better than nothing on the vinyl-covered hardwood floor, was uncomfortable and the unfamiliar sounds of the house kept me from falling into a deep sleep. Still, as RM and I watched the sun rise above the foothills and vineyards, I was enchanted and relaxed for the first time in a long time.
The bells of the village church were ringing as we left Goce, headed back to Lokve. In my mind, I was rearranging furniture and creating a lengthy "to-do" list. I refused to let my dwindling budget dampen my enthusiasm. You can't control the weather. You can't control the Dollar-to-Euro conversion rate. In fact, you control very little in your life. Those who struggle with such issues are the ones foolish enough to believe they ever had control of something. I was learning more about that with every passing day.
I found it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything but a way to buy the incredible home I'd found in Goce. So I started pigeon-holing everything in my life -- focus on client projects from this time to that time of the day, schedule these specific times for family and social events, spend these hours trying to sell things, devote these hours to figuring out how to finance the property. With a mere 24 hours in a day, my life was insane.
I also found myself dealing with some familial stress. My brothers and sisters were happy for me and this new direction in my life. When I asked my Dad what he thought about my moving to Europe, he smiled, shrugged and said, "Well, I don't know why you shouldn't." He thought this adventure would be good for me. My Mom was the only person in my life who didn't want me to go and would, in fact, tear up a bit every time the issue surfaced. Among my family members, Mom is fairly famous for being masterful at what we call, "The Big G." "G," of course, stands for "guilt." At times in my life, The Big G has been beneficial as a tool to put my moral compass back into alignment. At other times, The Big G has been a big pain in the you-know-what. Of course, I was magnifying the effect with my own element of guilt. My parents are getting older and more frail and that's often the time when kids decide to move closer to their parents rather than half a world away. My Mom and Dad sacrificed for me during the first 18 years of my life. Didn't I owe them?
I have to place some of the blame for my Mom's lack of enthusiasm on the fact that she believed if I moved to Europe, she'd never see me again. You see, I have a sister who lives in Florida and hadn't been home for six years. I told Mom that I wasn't my sister and that I hoped to come back to the States at least twice a year. I don't think that reassured her much and since she's a mother, that's her prerogative. The irony is that she and my Dad had raised me to tackle the world, instilling in me confidence and my rather dominant independent streak. Didn't they have to shoulder at least some of the blame for my mid-life move?
The mere idea of living in Europe is, well, foreign to her. My Dad served a brief Army stint in Europe between Korea and Vietnam. My Mom hadn't traveled outside the U.S. except for my brother's wedding. Their world might be small but they made sure their children's was not. They didn't send us on study-abroad trips; too many kids and not enough money. Still, they showed us the world by encouraging us to read, achieve and dare to dream.
The fact is, my Mom simply has to overcome her fear of water. She's done it before and I know she can do it again.
The first vacation I can remember was a week at my aunt and uncle's resort on a lake in southern Missouri. In fact, that's where we spent a week every single summer during my youth. While that didn't offer a lot of variety, we kids and Dad loved going where we spent as much time as we could in or on the water. I have great memories of fishing in the wee hours of the morning with my Dad, canoeing along the shoreline, swimming from a tiny patch of sandy beach, and learning to water-ski from a sitting position on the dock. We had no fear of water or anything else, and getting us to wear our life jackets was nearly impossible.
But from the time we were very young, Mom hauled us kids to Red Cross swimming lessons every summer. We didn't realize until years later that not only could Mom not swim, but she had a deathly fear of the water. For most of my childhood, she sat bravely in boats, always with a life jacket bound tightly around her and, had I noticed, probably white-knuckled most of the time from gripping a side rail on whatever boat we were in. I never remember seeing fear in her eyes or hearing it in her voice. She took us to those swimming lessons because she wanted to make sure none of us would have her fear, and that all of us would be able to swim. Years later, when my youngest sister started taking lessons, Mom did too. She learned to put her head under water without panic, to dog paddle, and to float on her back and her stomach. And somewhere in the process in her late 30s, she overcame her fear of water. None of us kids will ever know what that fear is like because of her resolved determination to make sure we didn't. I pray that she can overcome her fear of my life on another continent just as quietly and as bravely as she overcame her fear of water. My parents gave us all wings to fly (and fins to swim). Still, when any of us chooses to use them, Mom and Dad are entitled to be apprehensive. It's their job.
Besides the emotional turmoil, I faced the practical financial matters of my mid-life move. I kept trying to liquidate possessions, selling several things during a yard sale but failing in my attempts to sell most of the larger items. No matter how hard I tried, they just wouldn't move in an economy where everyone had cinched their belts tighter than a hangman's noose. Unfortunately, I was the one who was poised on the platform, ready to fall through the trapdoor. I had to relent on my stubborn need to go it alone, telling my generous friend that I would take her up on her offer to co-sign my loan. Not even full disclosure of my current financial situation scared her away. She is a believer. She would co-sign a loan for an amount that should allow me to pay off the balance, the realtor's fees and leave a little in my pocket for the inevitable expenses I would have when moving in.
Having someone co-sign a loan for you is a frightening proposition, to say the least. I didn't want this to be all about some dream of mine, so I based my acceptance of her offer on logic rather than fantasy. First, I knew the property was worth far more than the sale price of 98,000 Euros. There were people willing to pay at least 150,000, if not more. So, I knew that if I never made a single improvement to the place, I could turn around and sell the property for a profit of more than 50,000 Euros. After repaying the loan, I would have more than $70,000 in my pocket that would pay off all of my debts and give me a huge chunk of change for whatever I pursued next in life. Second, I was putting my proverbial affairs in order which included a life insurance policy that would more than cover the bank loan and my debts. Bolstered by these facts, I reached a decision.
I was going to own a house in Slovenia.
Now, I had to create a new "to-do" list to work on before I flew back to Europe at the end of September. I had three weeks to move my account to the bank we had agreed on, meet with a lawyer to handle my will and power of attorney, work out the loan details and sign all of the paperwork. We signed the papers on Tuesday. Six days later, armed with my new passport, driver's license, international driver's license and money in my U.S. bank account, I boarded a plane bound for Spain. I had never been so excited and yet so scared at the same time.
When I landed at the airport in Barcelona, Running Man (RM) was waiting for me, again with a white orchid. Suddenly, I felt my fear subside leaving only my giddy excitement. For more than a year, I had placed fanatical importance on making this move entirely on my own. But seeing his handsome, smiling face waiting on the other side of the customs line, where the officials put the first stamp in my new passport, I realized something very important. I was never going to have to do anything alone in my life. I never had. Family had raised me to be independent and confident. My family and friends had always provided moral support and two very good friends had loaned me money to make this happen. RM had given me not only phenomenal support with his knowledge of Europe, language skills and connections, but had been with me every step of the way, reassuring me, educating me and talking me down when I wandered out on a ledge. His was not just the voice of reason but an echo of my own thoughts and dreams. Could I have done this without him? That was a critical question for someone who never, ever wanted to be dependent again upon a man for anything in life.
But I knew the answer. I might not have ended up with this magical property in Slovenia, but I would have landed on my feet somewhere in the world. I was absolutely, positively sure about that. I had no fear of water or anything else.
