Postcards from Spain: Culture in Context

The first thing that strikes me when I think about writing about my experiences here, as an American living in Spain, is all the things I don't want to write.

This is because of all the times I have been on the other side of the fence. When foreigners implore the "Natives" to read their cute little blog musings on the natives' little corner of the world, they don't imagine that how offensive the Natives will find some of those musings," for ex. "Have I become dumber since moving to America?"

Genre and the American Travel writer

The Self-loathing American/Geography snob
This is the type of person who usually grew up somewhere in bum-fuck and could not wait to move to New York, San Francisco, or Abroad, to manifest their innate sense of superiority to all the rubes they grew up with. This kind of person inevitably becomes "more" New York, San Francisco or name your Euro capital than anybody who actually grew up there. I think there is something innately fishy about being ashamed of where you come from, especially when that person came from the same place (in a manner of speaking) as me, and, therefore, looks down on me! I am not always proud of my country and don't agree with its current government, but there are still a lot of things I like about America, that I am grateful for. I realize that where I come from has played a significant role in my identity today.

The American Bigot
I was well into a reverie of the reverse type: "When Americans go abroad, waxing poetic about their fresh baguettes and Tuscan views and how they just love the relaxed pace of living in the 'Old World' they don't realize that this is because they are 'On vacation' and they are not having to get anything practical done."

This was in a moment of frustration, dealing with the headache of getting papers here, like the NIE--foreign tax ID number, whose only benefit is a big "come and get me" to the tax authorities--it's harder than you think to get, and without it you can't even get a mobile phone in Spain. Or, dealing with Customs and blocked containers and more administrative papers. In short, huffing and puffing because my immigrant status here forces me to deal with that most international, illogical and pernicious of characters: the low level civil servant.

Just at the moment, I feel myself slipping into the American bigot rant, which frankly, being married to somebody from somewhere else and having dealt with the INS on his behalf and seeing what kind of treatment you can expect from them, even if you do have a higher education and speak perfect English, and God forbid you move to another region of the US and they can't locate your file..., I was still tempted to feel all American-bigoty about how much more efficient we are at getting things done, when what do I get in my in-box? A note from my surgeon's "appeals professional," apparently he has a full-time person with this title on staff. The letter informs me that Cigna (which has now been bumped ahead of Blue Cross Blue Shield in my personal circle of Hell ranking of health insurance companies) has decided to only pay half their portion of my surgery, from back in June.

Nastygram to Cigna

So I spent the morning writing an appeal to Cigna, pointing out that the first reason they denied partial payment on my claim--that I had co-insurance, was patently false, I do not now, nor have I ever had co-insurance. So that does not exactly inspires me with confidence at how closely they reviewed my dossier, as a whole. Or, do they automatically deny payment as a policy, assuming that not everybody is going to be pissed off and energetic enough to appeal? I had a PPO, what ever happened to my choice in health care? Why should some paper pusher at Cigna determine that I should go to some hack who just happens to be in their network to have my belly sliced open from hip to hip when I could have a laparoscopic procedure done by The Male Surgeon and His Colleague, who have more published successes in this surgery than anybody else in the World, let alone the Atlanta metropolitan area? I have a poor history of wound healing and four children to run after...and so on.

Postcards from Spain: Afernoon in Ikea

Ikea must truly be the world's most democratic place. While equipping our apartment in Madrid, we made the requisite stop there. After spending an hour and a half configuring something called the "blobbi" or the "schlaghklumf" or some other lump of unpronounceable Scandinavian syllables for our living room couch and various other pieces of furniture, we were in for a nasty surprise. Things have changed since our last stop in Ikea outside Paris in the mid-nineties. You no longer drop off your ticket at the warehouse and wait for them to bring you your boxes. Each piece of furniture comes with it's own aisle and item number; you grab your cart and off you go to the warehouse to find each individual item and lift it onto your cart, before proceeding to checkout. This might work just fine for one or two items, but gets tiresome when you are equipping a whole apartment.

Talk about a company that knows how to squeeze a margin. I look at the smiling employees (they all mostly seem happy to work there) re-stocking items and ask my husband if we couldn't just hand one of them 20 or 30 euros to get our stuff for us? He said this just isn't done and they would be offended that I am trying to subvert their egalitarian Scandinavian ethos with my filthy American money and expectations. I wonder about the supposed high level of youth unemployment in Spain and other European countries. Surely it wouldn't cost Ikea anything to let these people earn tips by getting people's boxes for them at the warehouse? Where's the evil in paying for extra service? Why isn't Ikea online, or is it?

Marc tells this story to Sacha (Labourey)--our friend and former colleague at JBoss and RHT, who sympathizes. "I know what you're saying. The other day, I needed to buy some furniture for a family house in the mountains. I called up Ikea and told them that I had rented a truck and was going to drive 200 km just to get some furniture there and could they please reserve the pieces I wanted. They responded: No, we can't do that. All we can tell you is that there are eight of those items left and they are going fast, so we recommend you hurry."

We find ourselves reflecting. When we were young and didn't have money, we went to places like Ikea. Now that we're older and more settled, we are still still doing many of the exact same things. Some things don't change.

Live and Let N.I.E.

Confession: I didn't even make up this title, I found it on a Spain Expat blog.

For those who haven't contemplated moving to Spain, this is their foreign tax ID number. As far as I can tell, it conveys no advantage whatsoever to the holder besides acting as a giant "Come and Get Me" to the fiscal authorities. Unfortunately, every basic transaction you might want to perform in Spain requires the NIE, from getting a telephone to opening a bank account, to getting your stuff through customs. You would think it would be easy to get.

Perhaps it is...if I hadn't decided to engage the services of BlahBlahBlah (prestigious international audit, tax and consulting firm). When I had less, I used to fantasize about how much easier life would be if you could Pay People to Do Things For You. Sometimes it is. Sometimes it isn't. In the case of the immigration services provided by BlahBlahBlah, I've learned more in one hour on Google than anything they've told me or provided me with so far. My husband says that it's my fault, I should have known that BlahBlahBlah is far more concerned with its fat multinational corporate clients than private individuals, unless, perhaps, you happen to be Bill Gates. I engaged BlahBlahBlah in the hopes that it would shield me from the usual insults and injuries wielded by that most vicious of creatures--the Low Level Civil Servant, in this case employed by immigration authorities.

In my experience, the Low Level Civil Servant (LLCS) is an international breed, whose temperament tends to worsen when deployed in highly populated capital areas (conversely it can be quite nice and personable in the more sparsely populated rural settings). The typical LLCS exists in limbo between gratitude for its job for life and generous employment benefits, mixed with subtle disdain for the mind-numbingly repetitive functions it must perform, and outright contempt for the people it is compelled to serve. The Low Level Civil Servant is programmed to follow a systemic series of rules and to exist in a world with no individuals, only check-marks. Asked to perform any function not automatically subsumed in the order and exact definition of the checkmarks, the LLCS automatically spits out a "No" response. Regardless of one's circumstances, there is a two-step approach that can improve your odds with the LLCS. 1)self-abasement and recognition of the LLCS' superior authority. "Oh most powerful one whose hand rests upon the stamp that I currently need, please forgive my ignorant ways and failure to blah blah, I beseach you to look with favor upon your humble supplicant" is an appropriate tone to adopt, followed by 2) The VCH (very compelling story)