Moving in day. Or as Bryan calls it, “the day everything descended into total, unfiltered chaos.”
We arrived at Villa Six with a rental van stuffed to bursting—boxes, bags, a couple of stressed-out children, and at least one piece of Ikea furniture I already regretted buying. The kids practically launched themselves out of the car, racing to claim their rooms, while Bryan hovered in the doorway with a clipboard. (Yes, an actual clipboard.) He was muttering something about “water pressure, locks, and immediate structural concerns,” while I was too busy deciding which box had the coffee maker to care.
First Impressions
The thing about moving in is that no matter how prepared you think you are, you’re not. We’d walked through this house multiple times, dreamed about lazy afternoons by the pool, imagined ourselves cooking in the kitchen. But now? Now we were standing in the middle of it, surrounded by an overwhelming number of boxes, realising we had zero idea where anything was going.
Anna wanted fairy lights up immediately. Luke was unpacking his gaming setup before even checking if his bed had arrived. Bryan was testing taps. And me? I was just hoping I could find a corkscrew before the night was over. Priorities.
The Great Furniture Hunt
Ikea. In Valencia. On a Saturday. Do I need to say more?
It was carnage. Aisles packed with families arguing over wardrobes, employees looking like they’d rather be anywhere else, and us—completely overwhelmed and already regretting bringing the kids. We had a list. Bryan had made a spreadsheet. And yet, by the time we got to checkout, we had seven candles, two throw blankets, and a very questionable rug that nobody remembered picking out.
Of course, not everything could be Ikea. I wanted character. Something with a little Spanish charm. That meant scouring local second-hand shops, haggling in broken Spanish, and convincing Bryan that yes, we absolutely needed a 150-year-old wooden bench for the garden.
Settling In
By day three, the house was starting to feel like ours. Luke’s “command centre” was fully operational (his words), Anna had draped her room in fairy lights and posters, and Bryan was fixated on getting the Wi-Fi signal to reach the garden.
Me? I found my happy place: the terrace. I set up a little table, plonked down a chair, and declared it mine. Coffee in the morning, wine at night. This was my new sacred space.
The Unexpected Surprises
Not everything went smoothly. Of course it didn’t.
- The fridge mysteriously stopped working on the first night. We’re still not sure why. Bryan tried “fixing” it, which mostly involved staring at it and occasionally sighing. It magically started working again the next morning.
- The pool filter made a noise that can only be described as ‘possessed blender meets dying lawnmower.’ The pool guy assured us it was “normal.” I remain unconvinced.
- Our neighbour, Jorge, introduced himself by randomly appearing in our garden, gesturing wildly, and speaking rapid Spanish. After some frantic Google translating, we worked out that he was offering us oranges from his trees. I think we’re going to like Jorge.
What’s Next?
Now that the initial madness is settling, it’s time for the real challenge: making this house a home. There are walls to paint, shelves to install, and a garden that needs some serious love. But for now? I’m just happy sitting here, listening to the sound of the waves in the distance, realising that after all the stress, the planning, and Bryan’s spreadsheets—we did it.
We’re home.
(Although we still need a name for the villa. That debate is ongoing. Feel free to weigh in.)