I’m Barcelona-bound, at last. I had seven months of visa-waiting (almost to the day). Now, seven weeks after that (precisely to the day), my house is under new ownership, my worldly possessions have been redistributed, given away, sold, or are en route to Europe. I’m at Trudeau airport, waiting for the adventure to begin. To continue, really, because the last while has been quite an adventure in itself. Months, days… In seven hours I should be in Europe.

There have been (so far) many hiccups and stresses, coulda-gone-wrongs and did-go-wrongs-but-worked-out-anyways, late nights, record snowstorms, farewell dinners and pub visits with friends, delays, glitches and surprises (both good and bad), but now I’m truly on my way.

You can’t expect much better than what I got. I mean, an ex-Prime Minister of Canada came to the airport to see me off. Not Trudeau, obviously, though the airport may bear his name. No — there he was, none other than Jean Chrétien, causing me to do a double take as I walked right next to him. In spite of myself, I had to turn back once I was past and sneak another look. Even better, my closest friend decided to save me the hassle and unpredictability of the shuttle bus, and took it upon himself to drive me to the airport and see me off. I really couldn’t hope for much better.

It wasn’t just a move, because then you can just have movers stuff everything into boxes and cart it off to your new home. No, I wanted to take this opportunity to lighten my load, the sheer amount of stuff I had, to feel free. Also, there’s the fact that the apartment waiting for me on the other end doesn’t have a whole lot of space. I managed to get rid of at least half my stuff. I was scolded several times for being too “unsentimental” — too ruthless with my purging. That may be so, but there are still a surprising number of boxes in a crate in a warehouse somewhere, waiting to be loaded on a ship that leaves Montreal next week. Port city to port city, not bad — assuming all works out fine (ha!), they should deliver my goods in a month.

Well, the plane awaits. Let’s see if this precious visa is all it’s cracked up to be! And what the Spanish customs folks make of my meticulous list of all my (remaining) earthly possessions…