Fraud

In the process of opening my bank account and finalizing the lease for my apartment I've signed multiple documents attesting that my accounts, the funds in them and the rental payments are not and will not be for the purpose of laundering money. First the obvious. If I was intent on laundering money, would signing a document deter me? "I've piles of dirty money desperate for cleaning, but now I've signed this I guess it's back to smuggling it about in my shampoo bottles like everyone else." 

Nonetheless, my honest face, pure intentions and shaky signature apparently weren't sufficient to keep my first international wire from being flagged for fraud. My American self sent my Spanish self my American money last Wednesday as my Spanish self needed European money before Monday as it had to be in the management company's account before I could sign the lease, with the signing schedule for Monday afternoon.

With no sign of the funds in my account Friday morning, and a politely panicked agent asking if I could send payment confirmation or they'd simply have to move the appointment, I set about locating my missing shampoo bottles. I could either call my bank's Toll Free number (only good in the U.S.) or call collect (only good if I could figure out how to ring an English speaking Spanish operator and request an international collect call). 

I have Google Voice for exactly this contingency! All the expat blogs helpfully advised porting a U.S. number to GV before switching to local phone service. I did that! I was quite pleased with myself! I've been receiving regular texts to my U.S. number from other U.S. numbers. I haven't made or received any calls, and upon dialing the Toll Free number I realized I wouldn't be making one now. Many, many help articles, Reddit threads and YouTube videos later I located the very (to me) obscure setting in the GV app to allow calls on WiFi instead of a cellular carrier. Never have I been happier to interact with an automated message AI and then placed on extended hold.

Not too much later I'm being told my account has indeed been locked and my wire held on suspicion of fraud and did I happen to receive an email from XXXX? I did receive that email. It looked like a phishing email - it came from an address with no mention of my bank. Included no mention of my bank in the email or footer. And cheerfully invited me to open an attachment or click on a link. Hahaha! I'm no phish. Classic phishing email! I'm much too smart to fall for that. Except it wasn't and when I didn't they didn't. I might be no phish. But I am a dummy. We worked through verifying that I am me and once done, my funds were released via an immediate transfer and before I could say thank you I received a notification that my Spanish self was looking just a bit more well off. And a few minutes after that my Spanish self was feeling just a bit less well off.

But as of yesterday, Monday morning, payments have been made. Rents have been paid. Contracts have been signed. The utility bills are in my name. Internet is being setup on Friday morning. I receive the keys and move in Saturday afternoon.

Just a couple stepping stones to go to cross the residency river. Securing my padrón and registering with the police to apply for my Residency/Foreigner's ID/TIE card. I register my address using my official lease at the Sitges Town Hall (my padrón) on 12 December. As previously recounted, I register with the police on 28 December, submit fingerprints and proof of insurance and, having already met with the attorney who is handling this process, the other necessary forms and instructions that she's prepared on my behalf. Just about all that's left are those appointments and to pay the bills and I'll be an official, long-term resident of Spain in good standing.

With all this going on, one might (incorrectly as it turns out) think I've missed Thanksgiving dinner. No! I'd boarded the bus, fumbled my way through buying a ticket and was anxiously riding the route (I hoped) to S P Ribes. As the minutes passed, the bus followed a familiar and expected route and it soon became astonishingly clear I was going to arrive where and when I'd planned. Brilliant! (I knew it all along. Ain't no thing.)

I stopped in a store on the way to my friends' house for wine (to share) and a couple bags of Nutella biscuits (for hoarding and personal consumption). I know less than nothing about Spanish wines. So, my foolproof approach, a bottle of each color, of the most populous varietal, in the middle of the price range of what's on offer, with a "classy" label and a DO designation.

American Thanksgiving was beautifully, satisfyingly international - the food, the folks, the festivities. Four couples including the hosts, five children, one dog, me. A Spanish couple, he a race car driving instructor, she a graduate student in orthodontics. A Dutch/Puerto Rican couple - she a professor at a university in Barcelona, he the Southern Europe GM for Tony's Chocolates (they, recent 11-year residents of Portland living just a handful of blocks from where my brother currently lives). A French/Spanish couple - she a yoga instructor, he doing business development in Spain for an American company based in Buffalo. Their daughter a 3-year old marvel. Mom speaks to her in French. Or English. Dad speaks to her in Spanish. Or English. She replies in English. Or Spanish. Or French. At various points during the evening there was Spanish, French and English being spoken around the table concurrently. Even a brief moment of Italian.

Spanish snacks to start (olives, cured meats, cheese), a delay to the roast being finished (no turkey, no problem, and the meat taking longer to cook than planned, traditional), round the table with what we're thankful for - beautiful, competitive, poignant - before eating, and then a table heaving with food familiar, comforting and delicious: roast beef, glazed carrots, roasted sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, dressing, THE GREEN BEAN CASSEROLE, kale salad, a pasta course and then pies, pumpkin, pecan, apple. Too full to accept the generous offer to take something home and still full but filled with regret at the not accepting the next morning.

The stranger in the group, I spent far too much time answering questions about myself. I learned I share a birthday with Peter and we've plans to meet for dinner to celebrate ourselves when everyone else forgets.