The Steps
I arrived in San Sebastian, the port in La Gomera, and realised I didn’t actually know where my new house was. I knew which village it was in, but couldn’t entirely remember where in that village it was. Piecing it all together from WhatsApp pins dropped by estate agents and the various videos they’d sent me of the place, I parked as close to the house as possible – I vaguely remembered having to walk up a few steps to get to the place, and I found the staircase I remembered.
This, friends, is exactly why you shouldn’t buy a house you barely remember.
The Steps.
The “few” steps in my mind were, in fact, an endless, winding track up and around the houses, almost to the top of a mountain; uneven, unfriendly and insurmountable when travelling with 6 suitcases, two of which were broken.
The first trip up The Steps, I was filled with optimism. So the place had slightly more steps than I remembered. Still, the view was worth it, right?
By the fifth trip, I was sweating, cursing and ruing the decision to buy such a ridiculous house. But then, salvation! A man came out of one of the neighbouring houses, took in my bedraggled state and immediately offered to help. This was my first experience of Gomeran hospitality – he offered coffee, milk, wine, introduced himself, made me feel completely at home and made the whole endeavour seem slightly less daunting.
Seriously though, The Steps. I haven’t counted as to this day they’re a trauma I have to go through each time I want to go home/leave the house, and it appears that when you live up 8 billion stairs, things like shopping (tins are heavy), drinking (wine weighs a LOT), planting things (compost = suuuper difficult to carry) everything is more difficult than it should otherwise be.
However, that first night I hadn’t realised how much of an ongoing irritation they’d be. Instead I blindly believed that they were only difficult because it was my first day, I’d get used to them, and I’d normally not be carrying all the suitcases up. (All of that didn’t turn out to be true but I was wildly optimistic. Possibly a character flaw.)
But then, I didn’t know what on earth to do. I was all alone, I didn’t know a soul on the island and I’d never bought a house before.
So, I cracked open a bottle of wine, sat down to call some people (Mum, Dad, what do I do now?!), and wandered around the house. It was pretty different to how I remembered it – 11 single beds but no sofa, a surprising amount of stairs between the floors of the house too which were wildly uneven, but a kitchen full of pots, pans, glasses, and everything else I could need.
As I’d not anticipated being able to cook but had brought a travel kettle with me, I’d given in to a guilty pleasure and bought some instant noodles. So, I rummaged through one of the 8503 suitcases I’d carried up The Steps, found the travel kettle, plugged it in…
…. And blew the electrics. Frantically I started searching the place for a fuse box (DAD SORRY FOR CALLING AGAIN BUT WHAT DOES A SPANISH FUSE BOX LOOK LIKE), but the only thing I could find was like no fuse box I’d ever encountered before. Two breakers, and not much else.
Undeterred, I flipped the power back on, tried the kettle in a different socket… nada.
No problem, I thought to myself, I’ll just have a shower to rinse off some of the sweat from The Steps. The place had two showers, so I was spoilt for choice! Except, after trying them, it became apparent that not only did the kettle not work, but neither did the water heater. In fact, the downstairs bathroom didn’t even have an infeed for hot water.
You know when you start thinking you really should’ve done more research? Well, there I was, a cold shower later and eating a cold pot noodle, wondering which of the 11 single beds to sleep in, and thinking I may just have made the biggest mistake of my life.
Welcome to day 1 of house ownership.
Donate for a coffee, donkey rental for a suitcase up The Steps, Gomeran stairlift...