A few years ago, I decided that I wanted to renovate a farmhouse in the Spanish countryside and so I moved to Malaga. I dreamt of living on a plot and rescuing some donkeys, growing my own vegetables and spending most days outside. I’m an interior designer so the house renovation part doesn’t scare me but, as a city girl from London with no experience of living in the countryside, until now, the latter part was more daunting. I was told by many how bold this move was but I can’t say I felt particularly brave; it felt right to try something new, the right time to challenge myself in a new way.
When I moved to my rented five bedroom farmhouse five months ago, I shipped everything I own with me; in hindsight, I could have definitely got rid of a lot more but I’m a sentimental soul and like my home comforts. I took this house for the hilltop views and because when I met with the owner, we had a lot of parallels which convinced me it was the right place for my first chapter of countryside living. It may have more bedrooms than I technically need but they’ve already proved useful for hosting – turns out a lot of people want to visit when you live in Spain.
While there are plenty of people I miss from my London life, there’s not much else from the capital that I’m pining after. At first I missed the convenience and having everything you could want at the push of a button. I’m almost ashamed to admit this now (although I used to wear it like a badge of honour at the time) but it was not uncommon for me to Deliveroo breakfast, lunch and dinner to my basement flat in south London in a single day. A craving for sushi was satisfied within 20 minutes and crispy chicken burgers for a Sunday hangover cure delivered to my front door. I’ve ordered all kinds of things directly to my apartment: medicine, massages and same-day deliveries for all sorts of niche whims. Now, sat on my little bamboo sofa on my terrace 40 minutes outside of Malaga I can’t order anything. Even standard post won’t find me here, I need a post box in town – I’ve adjusted surprisingly quickly.
Living in Malaga City for a year and a half before this move definitely helped me prepare. Malaga is quite small compared to London and I rented in the historical centre where I could walk everywhere I needed within about 20 minutes. Yes, I still had access to deliveries but things were so close and I was so enamoured with the city that I preferred to venture out to bustling terraces and sunny rooftops. Now, looking out over the vast surrounding olive groves I wonder, what is convenience really? And who is it serving? Heading into town to collect my post includes a chat with Spanish locals to practise the language and waiting in a very slow queue while each person chats to the staff at length (or so it would seem when compared to a London interaction). There is no sense of urgency and why should there be? In London, I would pay subscriptions for the fastest deliveries, eat a sandwich on the go, grab a drive-thru when on the road, multitask about six things at once and have anxiety dreams about the most efficient way to run all my errands that day.
