Money Matters

Money certainly does matter here in Spain, but the way the financial institutes deal with your money seems to be dependant on your gender.

I am not a great feminist but I am grateful to the likes of the Pankhurst sisters for getting us girlies up one rung of the ladder. In Spain it is clear to me that they still have a fight on their hands.

In the UK I was very independent, had full employment, owned my own home, and all my bills and bank accounts were in my name, despite the fact I was married……..I liked it that way.

Since coming to Spain some five years ago, I have had to open bank accounts, which is the norm. My first bank account was opened with my partner, and at the time I thought very little about the procedure. I did however take exception to the fact that all the correspondence from the bank was addressed only to my partner and not me, even though it was a joint account. On this occasion I put this down to the little idiosyncrasies of the bank.

A few years later it became necessary to open a joint account with my mother as we wished to raise some capital, and in order to this we required a small mortgage. We opened a bank account together and my name went onto the deeds of the house and also onto the mortgage agreement. Would you believe it they sent all the correspondence to my mother !!!! This situation was starting to annoy me slightly, and I found myself making constant checks in the mirror to make sure I did actually exist even though the banks seemed to think I did not.

I opened another account with my partner, at the beginning of this year, which we intended to use for business. And my name was also added to my mothers long standing Spanish bank account. Guess who the banks contact……not me!! Paranoia is now taking firm hold of my hand.

We have since sold our house and in doing so we had to cancel the small mortgage we had and duely toddled off to the notary to sign the relevant papers connected to the house sale. On arrival both my mothers and my passport were required to complete the process. We sat before the notary whilst he read through the sales contract checking off the names which appeared on it, against the pile of passports he had before him. Mothers name was read out in the context of her being the seller and he checked her passport and handed it back. The buyers names were read out and checked against their passports, then it seemed that part of the process was completed and it was time to sign. By this time I had noticed that my name had not been mentioned, neither had the notary looked at my passport. I found this a little disconcerting especially as my name was on the esquitura, and on the now cancelled mortgage agreement. I mentioned this to our solicitor who told me not to worry everything was in order. Papers were signed and our solicitor handed me a cheque. Eureka my name was on the cheque, but only mine??? So what had actually happened is we sold the house, mother signed and I got the money even though from the notaries point of view I was not a party to the transaction. Confused??? I sure was.

With the cheque in hand we all headed off to the bank were I would deposit the cheque in my account. Everything went smoothly and the cheque was paid in, and I was given the receipt. On closer inspection the receipt was in my partners name, not mine !!

The story does not end there, although it has to be said the best has been said.

Again my partner and I opened another bank account in Granada where we are buying our cave house. We needed to open an account so that we could place funds locally so that it is available for the work we need to have done on the house, and also so we can raise a small mortgage to complete these works. On opening this account my partner was required to sign a bundle of papers, yet I was only asked once for my signature, as they told me they needed this as a specimen. I asked why my partner had signed so many times and I had only signed once. They said “ You are a woman, it is not necessary”……

What do you say to that????? In my case nothing, it took me an hour to raise my chin from the floor from where it had crashed after that statement.

Registering with the School

When we arrived in Spain it was December and felt there was little point trying to get our daughter into school until the start of the new term in January. We had already identified which school she should be going to but because of her age we were unsure if she would attend this primary school or indeed go straight into the High School. When we left the UK she had just started Comprehensive school, and although we were aware that the ages for attending high school in Spain were different from those in the UK, we had also been informed that this would vary from area to area.

Christmas well out of the way we set about registering her with the school, we arrived bright and early one Monday Morning and stood outside the school. It seemed very pleasant and looked clean and well cared for, and no graffiti which was nice to see. There was a large railed fence all around the school and the gate was locked. Again we thought this was good especially given those tragic events in Dunblane. So far so good for a Monday morning in Spain.

We realised that the gate would be working on some sort of a buzzer/speaker system so began to search. The only thing that we could see was a form of door bell which was hanging from the wall by its wires and not looking too safe. There seemed to be nothing else to ring so with fear in our hearts we pressed the button………nothing.

It did not seem to be functioning. So there we stood the three of us feeling just a tad silly. We stood there for what seemed like an age, then a large delivery van pulled up and the driver got out and rattled the gates like there was no tomorrow, after a second or two the gates opened so we made our way in.

We went through the front door and into the reception hallway were we found the help desk. Well it looked like a help desk, but on reflection I think this should be identified as the unhelpful desk. Behind this desk were two women and one man. I asked if they spoke English, to which they answered NO. Ok I thought I am going to have to do this in my best Spanish which at that time was dreadful. I told them that I would like to register my daughter for school who did I have to see. They looked at me and then at each other and shook their heads. Mmmm I thought this is not going well. I tried this question in every form I knew how to try and make them understand what it was I wished to do. I just kept getting this vacant look.

I was about to give up and come back with a translator as it seemed that this was not going to be an easy task. A small boy then came past, and to be frank I paid very little attention to him as I was absorbed with my mission, and was franticly trying to find another set of words that might just convey my wishes. Whilst I was in mid spanglish this small child stopped and looked at us then spoke to the three stooges behind the desk in perfect Spanish, they replied and he then turned to us and told us that they were not taking admissions today we would have to come back another day. Now you have to understand that this child was no more than six or seven, so astonished does not cover our feelings. I quickly asked him which day we should come back and he told us on Thursday between 10.30 and 1.30, and off he went with us both shouting our thanks.

We were handed a form and off we went. Ok we were thwarted at that attempt but we were not giving up, we had gained information albeit not by our own means but on the back of a small British child whose command of the Spanish language was stunning. We spent hours on this admission form working out what information they needed and managed to fill it all in and I have to say correctly. It seemed all they needed were our passports and photocopies of our passports.

Armed with all our paperwork we arrived back on Thursday morning to find a queue, and this was out of the door and into the playground and it was not even 10.30am. Ok I thought if this is what you have to do to get your kid into school here then this is what I have to do, so we quietly joined the queue. We stood there for ages, my back was killing me and we took it in turns to go for a smoke. We were about 10 people left at the front of the queue at 1.30 and I thought well we are nearly there maybe another ten minutes at the most and we will have registered her with the school and she should be able to start on Monday morning. My illusions were shattered about 10 seconds later, when a rather burly Spanish women appeared and shouted “Vamos” and then in English “finished go away”. Now she had to be joking I had been standing there for hours!!!! There were a few disgruntled people ahead of me but they did as they were told and started to move away. I asked them what was going on and they told me that registration is strictly on Thursdays between those hours irrespective of how long you had been standing there. The woman I spoke to was on her fourth attempt.

Jesus I thought as we headed to the nearest bar, in dire need of beer and an ice cream. Small blonde child was not impressed, and told us that the school looked like a prison. This was now starting to look bad and I knew that battle lines would have to be drawn, and a strategy formed.

The following Thursday morning we arrived at 9.00am I was damned if I was going to be in the same position as the week before. Despite our early arrival I guess other parents were in the same school of thinking as us, as the queue had already begun to form, fortunately not as long as the previous week, so we had a chance of being seen. The queue followed the same pattern as the week before with my partner and I adopting the shift system. Eventually we were first in the queue, and then the magical door that had eluded us the week before opened and we were motioned in.

At the desk sat a very sombre looking man with a young woman next to him. She spoke first asking in Spanish our nationality. We told her we were British and she asked if we had brought a translator. No I replied, so I have to have one? She just shook her head. I handed over the form we had filled in and she asked for our passports so I handed over both my daughters and my passports and she motioned for my partner to hand over his. I then had to explain that he was not her father, she then asked me for my husbands passport. I could not believe this…… I told her that my daughter’s husband did not live in Spain and I did not have his passport, she insisted that she had to see his passport. Thinking on my feet I told her that this would not be possible as we did not know where he was and we had not seen him since the divorce. Thankfully she bought that one and asked for my partner’s passport as he would be the head of the house. I could feel my feminist hackles rising and fought to keep my mouth shut.

Forms were filled in and boxes ticked and all seemed to be going well, then she asked for her immunisation records. Ok she had me I did not have those, and at that moment in time I had no idea how I was going to get those to Spain in a hurry. I was told she could not be admitted without them, and we were shown the door.

Back to the pub, beer and ice cream all round………..

I managed to contact the practice manager of our doctors in the UK and as luck would have it she was an old friend and within 24 hours she had faxed through the records. Armed with this we returned again the following week and presented ourselves to the mercy of the queue. This was now becoming a regular thing and we were starting to form close bonds with the people we had met week after week in the queue, sad but true. Again we were at the front of the queue but this time we had the information that was required……..or so we thought.

I presented the young woman with the immunisation records which were checked and she then asked for photographs, well she thought she had me there but during one of my conversations with other parents in the queue I noticed they had photos and asked what they were for. They were required for identification and also for their bus passes if they needed to be transported to school. I had the photos whoo hoo. She took these and stuck one onto the admissions form and stapled the others to another form. Well that was that, when does she start?? Yep you guessed there was something else I had failed to provide, she now required a copy of the padron. I shot out of the office dragging the rest of the brood with me, with looks of total bewilderment on their faces. I could see it in their eyes “ she has finally lost the plot”. On the contrary I knew the town hall was at the other end of the street and we could get the padron there, and with luck get back into the queue and get this admission thing finished today.

My plan worked and armed with our padron with the ink still wet we were back in the queue, and back into the office within minutes to spare of the cut off point. Was I feeling smug. This is when the expression “do not count your chickens before they hatch” really means something. The young lady stapled one of the copies of the padron to the other forms and then hit me over the head with the question “ have you got her medical certificate?” What medical certificate??????? It seems that your child also has to have a medical examination with a Spanish doctor before they may be admitted to a Spanish school. I think this was the point where my head hit the desk and my fist followed. Once I had regained my composure, and trust me it was touch and go, I asked this young woman if there were any other documents that I was required to provide so that I did not waste any more of both her time and mine. It seemed I should also fill in a form for school transport and bring that back with the medical certificate, and I also needed a copy of the passport of the person that owned the house that we were living in. Now if I had not asked I could see that we would have returned at least another twice only to be told that we were missing some form of documentation. I asked the young lady if she minded if I place a list of the documentation required on a piece of paper and posted this on the front door, so that no one else had to go through this again. I got that look that only Spanish officials can give, but I did it anyway.

We finally returned with all the documentation and were told that she could not start for another two weeks as they did not have the room, and this nice young lady added that we should have registered here 3 weeks before and she would have been able to start that Monday. AAARRRRGGGGHHhhh!!!!!

On the first morning of school we drove our daughter to the front gates, we told her to try and have a good day and said all those encouraging things that you say when you are more nervous than they are. My daughter has a riotous if not evil sense of humour and she pointed towards the roof of the school, and asked if that was the only gun turret or where there more. Naturally we looked up at the roof, and as we did so a child kicked his football out of the school grounds and scaled the fence to retrieve it. My daughter leapt out of the car shouting “ Run, Run they have not seen you yet, you can escape” she then went into school whistling ‘The Great Escape’.

We spent the next 4 months ferrying our daughter back and forth to school as there was not enough room on the school bus. This was four trips a day. The reason why there was no room on the bus was because people had taken the bus place as it allows the child to stay for dinner, however as it turned out the bus was running virtually empty, and the irony was it went passed our front door. When I queried this with the director he shrugged, but he did eventually look into it, and one day we found teachers escorting children onto the school bus much to their horror, and parents turning up to collect their kids only to find they had been placed on the school bus. After a couple of weeks we were sent a letter to tell us that our daughter could now travel on the school bus.

Telephony Services Chapter Three

I spent many happy hours using my newly installed ADSL, life was full of joy again, I could work, spend time talking to our kids, video conferencing, you name it I did it; I was making up for lost time. This euphoric state lasted almost a year, we did have the odd hiccup when Telefonica decided that we had not paid our telephone bill and severed the line, but in fairness to them they could not have known, that due to the inept working practise that they seem to promote, they had not actually sent us a bill. However the failing as usual had to be with us for not nurturing our telepathic powers, which would have enabled us to see that a bill was in fact due to be paid and also knowing the exact amount. In the greater scheme of things this was merely a small glitch in the matrix, and we knew that they were saving themselves for greater things.

As Christmas 2004 approached we had notice that the house we had rented for the last year was up for sale and we would need to leave sometime in January 2005. As it stood we were ready for a move and started to think about moving inland and into the country. We had done our stint of the British type Urbs and fancied something a bit different. We started looking at various locations and our dear Spanish friend Enrique found us a lovely 4 bed detached property in a little Spanish Village close to Murcia. We looked and thought WOW and the rent was just about right.

Being now very cautious we thought Telephone, we noted that there was a line into the house but the landlady had it disconnected some two months previously, however as it was there, and it was not a radio phone we thought that this might prove to be a hassle free situation. At this point I must point out that with hindsight I have now made a note to myself. ‘Do not think, do not expect, and be prepared for anything’

We telephoned Telefonica and told them the number of the phone and asked if they could reconnect it. Yes they said no problem it would take ten days. We then asked would ADSL be available on this line, again they said Yes no problem. I know what you are thinking now! No we did not take this on face value we checked. Firstly we checked with the neighbours for their numbers and ran them through Telefonica site where you key in your number to see if ADSL is available for that number, we also ran ours through the system; they all came up with a positive Yes. Armed with this information we placed the order for the phone to be reconnected and ordered the ADSL. Ten days for the phone but the ADSL would take 20 days, we could live with this so we paid our deposit for the house and my partner and I moved in just before Christmas to make sure the house was ready for the final move on January 2^nd when my mother would join us.

We got ourselves settled well more or less, we also found that we had moved to the black hole of silence as none of our mobile phones on any network, in any way functioned in the house. We spent the first two weeks driving up the nearest mountain until we got a signal, so that we could stay in touch with the outside world. With regard to the phone, well the ten days came and went and no sign so again we rang them. They did the usual checks on name and passport number and said that they would be with us shortly but could not say when. With the patience of jobe we continued our waiting game. Another ten days passed and nothing so we rang again. They told us this time that there was some problem with the ADSL order and their technical dept would be in touch to explain.

Ok we thought we can live with that but what about the phone? Well it appeared that there was a problem with that too but their technical dept would contact us and explain.

Their was a familiar pattern to this and it was becoming quite disconcerting so we asked trusty Enrique to give them a call on our behalf to try and find out what the problem was.

Now Enrique is normally one of the nicest chaps you would ever care to meet, he is always cheerful, and never has a bad word to say about anyone or anything and seems to take everything that life throws at him, in his stride………normally !!!

Enrique was furious he shouted and screamed down the telephone and although my Spanish is not brilliant, even a non speaker got the gist of what he was saying. The conversation was not a lengthy one and when he put the phone down the swearing continued. He told us that there was no capacity in the exchange to provide a telephone line for us and that they were updating the exchange but it would be about a year before this work was completed. We were devastated.

We continued to ring Telefonica as we felt that some amount of persistence would have to pay off in the end. This became a ritual, every Monday morning we would ring and they would tell us the same thing, they were working on it but could not give us any more information. One Monday morning whilst enjoying a coffee in one of the bars in the next village we thought lets ring Telefonica whilst we have a signal. We went through the usual questions and the lady at Telefonica asked for my passport number and then went to get the information for us. When she came back she said “I am sorry Mrs ……, we have no record of your order on this passport number” now this was a little confusing as she had addressed me by my correct name and as I had never had any telephony services ordered in my name prior to this order I had to ask her “If you have no record of my order on this passport number, how come you know my name?” Guess what? She hung up!!!

This did not annoy me at all this incensed me, I rang back and explained what had just occurred and they asked me who I had spoken to, now how the hell did I know? I have to add here, that you should, in any communication with Telefonica, make sure that is one of the first things you ask…..their name. Amazingly they managed to find my order and gave me the information I had requested, however I was not going to leave it at that, and I requested that I speak to a supervisor as I wished to make a complaint. No there was not a supervisor to speak to, so I asked for the telephone number of their head office, no there was not a telephone number for their head office??? Ok I had to question that one, they are the main telecommunications company in Spain who provide telephones and telephony services to millions of people, and their head office does not have a telephone number???????? This does not fill you with confidence if they cannot get a phone number what chance do I??? They did however give me a fax number…..unbelievable!!!

Strangely two days later a rather nice young man turned up at our house, and he introduced himself and the senior technical engineer for Telefonica and his ID supported this. He had come to talk to us, armed with maps of the area, and to explain why we had not got our phone line and our ADSL. All very interesting and it seemed that they were actually working on the exchange to increase the number of lines and he hoped that this work would be completed before Christmas, we were now in March. As for the ADSL he told us that it would cost a considerable amount to make the exchange ready for ADSL and unless more people requested the service he could not see this happening for some time. We were not happy but any chance of a line had to be taken.

April arrived and so did Telefonica, they looked at the present connection scratched their heads and toddled off again. They arrived back the next day had another look and got some telephone cable out of their van and deposited it on my porch, scratched their heads again and vanished in their van. Two weeks later they arrived again asked to look at the connection in the house, which we showed them, one of them started taking the box apart whilst the other one went out into the garden to view the outside connection. At this point I had visions of them vanishing again, and lost the plot. I locked the front door and told the guy outside either they finished the installation today or his mate was not leaving. They looked at me as though I was mad, as did the rest of my family. Not a lot was said by either of the guys but they did work feverishly with the installation, tested it, rapidly wrote the telephone number down for us, and then just looked at us. I tested the phone, it worked, I got someone to ring me back, and it worked. I then poured the two guys a Ponche and gave them €10 each and unlocked the door.

The two Telefonica guys both broke into broad smiles, slugged down their drinks kissed me and left.

Now that is how you get a phone line here in Spain

My next subject will be about getting your children into school and how the Spanish love their paperwork.