In our previous blog post we wrote that we were in the final phase. That we’d probably be writing the next one from Spain already.
That moment arrived sooner than we thought.
On 10 February, together with good friends, we loaded the truck that would carry our things to Spain. The truck had a name — El Snorro — and within a few hours everything was inside. Boxes, furniture, memories. What had been our home for years was suddenly on wheels.
And yet, it felt different from what we had expected.
A week earlier, the bank had raised new questions about the mortgage. Additional documents were needed, among other things about the right of way. So while we were stacking boxes and securing furniture, the financing still wasn’t definitively closed.
But the removal truck set off.
With our entire life inside it.
On the way to Spain
On 11 February at 12:00 we signed over our house in the Netherlands. From that moment on, we officially weren’t the owners anymore. After one last meal with our neighbours Robert and Miriam, and the final bit of filming for television, we got in the car with our cats. Heading for Spain.
Without any final certainty.
The drive south passed in shades of grey. Rain, motorways and petrol stations. We saw little of France. But along the way we finally got the message we’d been waiting for: we could sign the financing. Right there, mid-journey, a huge weight lifted off our shoulders.
Until Bomber decided he was carrying the stress in his own way.
Right before our overnight stop in Burgos, he fell ill. He hadn’t urinated for a whole day — stress. By 23:00 we were at an emergency vet clinic, where he was fitted with a catheter. That’s where you find yourself. In the middle of the night. With a sick cat. On the way to a new life.
The next morning, we carried on.
Arrival at Posada Aurora
On Friday we arrived at our dream place. The TV crew was already waiting for us. No quiet arrival — everything was in motion from the very first moment.
That first look at the house felt special. So this was it. Our place.
Until we discovered there was no electricity in the kitchen.
At that point it still seemed like a minor detail. First we had to unload. With help from the Spanish family, that went almost as fast as loading up in the Netherlands. By the end of the day we were exhausted, but relieved. We had arrived.
The owner told us an electrician would come by. It sounded reassuring.
But it didn’t stop at the electricity.
That same day, the drinking water system’s pump broke down.
The bathroom water heater stopped working.
A persistent blockage appeared in the kitchen.
No hot water. No stable electricity. No fully working kitchen.
Welcome to reality.
Even so, the sun softens things a lot. And the fact that we could already start renovating gave us something to hold on to. Gaia’s room became our first priority. Tamara and Gaia painted a big tree together on the wall, with frames full of memories. Among all the boxes, that’s where the first little piece of home appeared.
Hidden defects
Meanwhile, time kept ticking down towards the official handover.
The electrician came back. And then again. And that’s when it became clear what was really going on: the electrical wiring ran under the house, with no protective conduit, straight through the sand. They pulled out a cable that was visibly damaged.
That felt different from just a minor defect.
This wasn’t something a new fuse box would fix.
This was potentially dangerous.
We made it clear we couldn’t accept this. For us, this fell squarely under what’s considered a hidden defect. An intense conversation followed. Emotions ran high — understandable, after everything that had happened before. In the end, the sellers agreed to cover the cost of replacing the electrical wiring.
And then Tuesday arrived.
We were at the notary’s office. The papers were signed.
After months of paperwork, waiting, doubt and perseverance, we were officially the owners of Posada Aurora.
No longer just plans.
No longer any conditions.
Just our place.
And now the real building begins.
