Remodeling a House in Spain

Our house in Colorado had huge picture windows overlooking a wooded landscape. One of the big windows had a broken seal. As a result, moisture condensed between the panes. This partially obscured the bucolic view and made the window look dirty, no matter how thoroughly we cleaned. Replacing the glass would be a lot of trouble and it would be expensive, so we tolerated the imperfection.

We looked through this milky window for five years. Then we decided to sell our home and move to Spain. The house was cute and in great shape and in a nearly ideal location. We got an offer almost immediately. It was from a California couple, Kenny Herzog and Jennifer MacMillan. Predictably, Kenny and Jennifer demanded an offset for the cost of replacing the defective window. The demand was reasonable and we agreed. The new owners, truly lovely people, ultimately replaced the window and posted pictures on Facebook.

Seeing this picture, seeing the stunning view outside our former house, filled us with strong emotions. Mainly a seething hatred for Kenny and Jennifer.

That irrational feeling soon passed because, as I said, they are the loveliest people. They were not taunting us. It just seemed that way because their post inspired regret; regret that we had not replaced the window ourselves, and five years earlier.

What does that little vignette have to do with remodeling a house in Spain?

Bear with me as I explain.

We bought a forty-plus-year-old house in Alicante. It had never been remodeled and sat empty for two years. You might say it was “dated,” just as you might say the Ford Pinto, which you have used since 1972, is “dated.” Not only did the house have popcorn ceilings, it had similar texture on the walls. Four inadequate electrical circuits controlled the entire house. We could not simultaneously operate a hot plate and a toaster. We lost all power every time it rained. Poor seals around a toilet released a faint but unpleasant odor.

On the bright side, there was only trace evidence of mice. Apparently they had long ago been eaten by the roaches. Those fearless insects roamed at night, especially in the kitchen, like post-apocalyptic Mad Max gangs. I killed some and hung their mutilated corpses from the silverware drawer as a lesson to others.

It did not work.

The kitchen became the subject of many discussions; and not only, or even primarily, because of the hostilities existing between humans and vermin. I will get to those conversations. First, however, we should discuss the rest of the property.

Outside, several trees had died for want of water. Concrete around the pool was crumbling. The pool itself was as green and fetid as a farm pond in the low spot of an overpopulated cow pasture. The house and grounds needed . . . everything.

The previous owner’s heirs left the house jam-packed with broken furniture, stained curtains, and all kinds of junk collected over nearly a half century. None of it was useful, except to the roaches. They hid in the crevices while strategizing their next raid.

We hired a charismatic English couple, Julian and Mel, to take probably two dozen crowded van loads of stuff to the dump. We cleaned the house from top to bottom and from side to side. We cut the weeds and trimmed the bushes. I stood back and looked at the results of our hard work. Hours and hours of hard work.

“It still looks like crap,” I said.

Denise, who was stirring a large vat of roach poison, looked up and agreed. “We need to remodel the kitchen,” she said.

I thought of the Colorado picture window. Delaying its replacement did not reduce the cost. It merely reduced – to zero – the number of days we could enjoy an improvement we paid for.

“We need to remodel everything,” I said.

Turning her attention back to the boiling caldron, Denise murmured, “Agreed.” Without looking up she added, “But the kitchen comes first.”

One day, before closing, we were standing in the living room, next to the wall it shares with the kitchen, speaking to one of the owners. The middle-aged Spanish woman said, “I know what you are going to do. I watch a lot of home renovation shows and Americans always want to take down the wall between the kitchen and living room. They want to open it up.” She said “open it up” with the same level of scorn most people reserve for “Tide Pod Challenge.” She continued, “They fill the entire house with kitchen odors.”

“That’s true,” I said. “But, what you have to understand is that American cooking smells good.”

Actually, I kept that thought to myself. I did not want to trade rudeness for rudeness. Besides, what really concerned me was what she said next.

“You won’t be able to take down this wall (pointing to the wall we wanted down) because it is load-bearing.”

I knew there would be a work-around even if the wall was load-bearing. But I also knew that would involve extra expense. Possibly a great deal of extra expense. This Spanish woman was not the only one who watched Property Brothers.

We interviewed four contractors. One was a man from Scotland who spoke a lyrical version of English. Another did not speak English, but brought a woman who translated his Spanish and our English. The third was an English-speaking Romanian we found on the Internet. Friends recommended the fourth, a man named Danni Brezuleanu. He also hailed from Romania, and also spoke English very well. We later learned that the non-English-speaking contractor, whom we assumed was Spanish, actually was Romanian.

I do not know why three out of four contractors were from Romania (and none from Spain). Maybe it was a crazy coincidence. Probably (I suspect) macroeconomic forces caused thousands of contractors to move from Romania to Spain, a place where wages were higher and the competition enjoyed long siestas. All I know for sure is that the contractors did not agree on whether the kitchen wall was load-bearing.

One of the English-speaking Romanians assured me that the wall definitely supported the roof. He pointed to the adjacent ceiling. “See that?” he said. “You can see slight indentations of concrete beams running perpendicular from the wall.” I squinted and nodded my head uncertainly. He gave me a bid that included the cost of substituting a steel beam for the load-bearing wall.

The contractor speaking with a Scottish brogue said that I should ask his armpit whether it is at all toad-fearing. Or maybe he said I should ask an architect whether the wall was load-bearing. There was no way to be sure. In the end, however, our decision not to hire him had nothing to do with his accent. We removed him from consideration for the objectively verifiable reason that he had a “sketchy vibe.”

The non-English-speaking Romanian gave the highest bid. Aside from the large numbers on his presupuesto (bid), we could not understand him. He could not understand us. His bid joined the Scotsman’s in our discard pile.

Danni Brezuleanu, the other English-speaking Romanian, pounded on the kitchen wall. “That is not a load-bearing wall.” He said it with absolute confidence. Presumably registering my apparent concern he added, “We can confirm my opinion as we begin demolition. If it proves to be load-bearing we can insert a steel beam. The cost will be, at most, 1500 euros.” This was less than half what the other contractor wanted for the same beam. He pounded on the wall again. “But it is not load-bearing.”

This was not our first rodeo. Denise and I had remodeled other homes. But they were American homes, with wood studs every sixteen inches, and floor joists and roof trusses and drywall. I looked at a wall in our new Spanish house and realized I had no idea what was on the other side of the peeling paint. We needed a general contractor we could trust. We both felt we could trust Danni Brezuleanu.

As of this writing the house renovation is 99.9% done. Just a few punch list items remain. Our trust in Danni was rewarded.

Danni’s workers, most of whom are Romanian, got to work early in the morning and didn’t quit until 6 p.m. They were friendly and competent and cleaned up after themselves. Danni responded almost immediately to texts, emails and phone calls. There were a couple of minor errors which Danni freely acknowledged and quickly corrected. Danni accommodated our requests for changes or additional work without charging more than we thought reasonable. I doubt there is a better contractor in Spain. There cannot possibly be a nicer one.

I know what you are thinking. You are thinking, “Dan, this is not like you. You dispense sarcasm and snark like candy from a parade float.” I admit that is true. So much so that my inability to think of one negative thing to say about our contractor makes me feel like I have failed you, dear reader. But I am hopeful. If Danni so much as forgets to wipe his feet before entering the house I will amend this essay. I will ridicule him mercilessly!

See the two vents near the top of the above picture? Originally, the house was cooled by five small air conditioners, one in each of the most significant rooms. Four of the AC units were non-functional. Danni installed central air for about what it would have cost to replace those four devices.

If you look closely you will see that we have installed a garbage disposal. My American friends will not be impressed by our garbage disposal. In Spain it is highly unusual.

When we told Danni we wanted a garbage disposal he asked what that was. I explained the function. “Oh, yes!” he exclaimed. “I have seen those in movies!” Garbage disposals in American movies almost always involve an explicit or implicit threat of horrific injury. Maybe the bad press is why they are almost unheard of here.

Danni’s plumber competently installed the disposal, despite his inexperience with the devices. A second plumber, an independent contractor who installed our osmosis water filter, photographed the garbage disposal. He wanted to show it to friends and customers, much as a man might show off his picture of a two-headed cat.

The remodel was in the final stages when I absent-mindedly asked Danni if he could tell me the cost of a new swimming pool. He recited a figure that was several thousand euros less than I had anticipated. “But,” Danni said, “If you want the new pool this summer you have to get started now. In another month all the pool contractors will be too busy and you will have to wait another year.”

I thought of the Colorado picture window. I said, “How soon can they start work?”

The answer proved to be “pretty darn soon.” Within a week huge and heavy trucks were rolling across our driveway and yard. To accommodate the trucks they not only had to remove our gate, they had to demolish the wall supporting the gate. They had to uproot an almond tree that I didn’t like anyway. Once again, however, the men worked steadily and quickly. As I write this the heavy equipment is gone and soon we will have a new pool. And a new gate. And some aromatic firewood.

Would our remodel have taken longer had we used a Spanish contractor? Back before Danni began remodeling, a Spanish company evaluated a small grassy area for installation of sprinklers. They took measurements and left. Two weeks later I still had not received their bid. I sent a reminder. In another two weeks I sent another. Then a third. Finally, as Danni was almost done with our remodel (nearly three months after the gardener’s evaluation), I received a verbal estimate of €2,600.

Was €2,600 a fair price? I had no idea. But by that time Danni’s men had dug trenches from the house to and around the area we wanted irrigated. The trenches were pathways for electrical conduit, but Danni helpfully observed that irrigation lines could be run in the same furrows. I told the gardener that I needed a new estimate, one that took into account the fact that Danni’s crew had done a substantial part of his work.

Three weeks later, still no word from the gardener.

I mentioned with a certain amount of awe the gardener’s apparent indifference to the work we had to offer. Danni reminded me that we were in Spain, the country that invented mañana. He said that small Spanish companies often will assume that timing is not important to you. They may not amend this assumption until after your third complaint.

Don’t get me wrong. Neither Danni nor I would say that all Spanish companies have such a flexible view of time and work. I have known many Spanish workers to be prompt, diligent, and competent. But, as a general rule the Spanish people are not wound quite so tightly as Americans. An American can either get upset about that, or he can relax his own inner coil.

We have virtually rebuilt the house. We actually rebuilt the pool. Landscaping is next and we already have spent more than we had expected. Meanwhile, our neighbors own a company that sells and installs solar systems in the Americas, Europe and the Middle East. They have offered us a good deal. Should we wait before incurring that expense?

I am tired of building. I am tired of men carrying tools across our property. We are not made of money. I want to push the pause button.

But then I remember that darn picture window . . ..