11.27.25 – Thanksgiving Day

Dear Asher,

I’m moving out of my apartment in three days. That’s what I keep repeating to myself. It’s the mantra I say under my breath when I walk through the entrance to my building and from two flights of stairs away I can smell a fish that’s been on the counter for too long. It’s the refrain with which I warm myself before getting into another cold shower because my roommates haven’t paid their portion of the gas bill yet. I’m moving out of my apartment in three days. 

Today is Thanksgiving and needless to say, I’m feeling very lonely. I’m calling it the two month slump. The holidays are starting, the novelty is wearing off, my bike (i.e. my way to work every morning) just broke, and my roommates are nasty, passive aggressive motherfuckers. I wish you were opening this letter to read an amazing tale about travelling across Europe and eating the greatest foods, seeing the most amazing sights, or experiencing the kindness of strangers while I’m lost in a new city. But you can go look at the travel vloggers on instagram when you get tired of reading this letter. And while I certainly have had some high highs since moving to a foreign country, this week might be my lowest yet, and unfortunately it coincides with your turn on my writing list. So I’m here to complain.

For the past two months I’ve used my 90 euro facebook marketplace road bike to ride to my school until just 9 days ago the chain caught in the spokes of the back wheel and ripped the whole thing apart, shattering the gear apparatus and effectively destroying my bike beyond repair. That same day I walked home on the shoulder of the highway after giving classes and discovered we had ran out of hot water and it was my roommate’s turn to go to the gas station and refill the butane tank. He seemed to think it was my turn, even though I had refilled it two weeks ago, because he unhooked the tank and set it by the front door for me to find, then left for the weekend. In protest, I’ve been taking cold showers and waiting for him to return. He said he’d do it when he got back. It’s been a week. 

My other roommate is a big fan of leaving animal parts on the kitchen counter for an entire day, then cooking a stew that leaves the entire house smelling like a butchery, closing all the windows, and not taking the trash out. There’s a sickly sweet smell that emanates from a rotting a pile of potato peels, onions, vegetable stems, and other herbs that, if left for too many days, begins to resemble vinegar or some other fermenting agent. The flies love it and our kitchen is one of the most popular hangouts for insects. A few weeks ago my roommate confronted me about ‘not taking out the trash enough,’ and ‘he shouldn’t always be the one to have to do it.’ I told him I hadn’t used the kitchen in weeks and I had my own trash can in my room. I couldn’t trust stepping into the kitchen with shoes on, let alone make something that would go in my body. 

I’m moving out in three days.

I checked out a few replacement bikes on facebook marketplace, but all were more expensive and even shittier than the one that had just exploded. Finally an American friend told me you can rent bikes long term from the sporting goods store at the mall. Now I have essentially a brand new mountain bike for 20 euros a month for the next six months. The same price that some were asking for on facebook for a rusted-out, flat-tired junker. Things are looking up.

What isn’t looking up yet, is my income. I’ve been here two months, have worked all of those two months, and have yet to receive a paycheck from the Spanish government for the job they hired me to do in their public school system. They ask for documentation which I provide, then tell me I didn’t fill it out correctly, so they send it back and I fix it. Then they say I only signed with one last name and I need to sign with two, even though I don’t have two. So I send it back. Then they say that the second last name I signed with isn’t on my passport, so it’s not valid, so my pay is delayed again. Then after I do everything correct, they say my principal didn’t stamp the seal of the school on the right part of the page, so they send it back again. And so on and so forth about six times now. Now, like with the butane tank, I’m in a cold war with the Conselleria de Comunitat Valenciana, and we’re both playing chicken with who’s going to crack first. Little do they know I haven’t had a hot shower in two weeks.

When I arrived to Spain I told myself I didn’t want to find Americans to live with because I wanted to branch out of my comfort zone, but now I look for comfort wherever I can find it. And in this case, the Americans found me. A few friends from the same teaching program offered me their third bedroom when I told them that there’s mold growing in my bathroom and I’ve been waking up coughing. I figure I can practice my spanish at the supermarket like everyone else.

It has been a rough week, but it’s only been this week. There has been so much to be grateful for, so many people I’ve met, so many new experiences I’ve had that make this place so exciting. Like when I got on the schoolbus a few days ago because I no longer had a bike––the bus driver (rightfully so) asked who the hell I was and said I wasn’t allowed to ride the bus. But all the students started shouting at him to let me on, saying that I was their english teacher and my bike was broken. That felt nice. Then there was seeing my cousin in Barcelona, a friend in Madrid, my favorite band in Manchester, and my parents in Valencia. Next it will be my best friend in Morocco, my college friends in Italy, my cohort here in Germany, and possibly more. I’ve decided I’m coming back to America with zero dollars. To hell with getting paid––I never thought work was about making money anyways… I think it’s just something we have to do so we don’t implode, like going to the bathroom––which, I haven’t been able to do recently because I I have hemorrhoids.

Luke