Not Cuckoo for Spain. Why this Expat is moving back to Switzerland.
I love this interview just because of how brutally honest Stefanie is. She lived and worked in Spain for 9 years before calling it quits and moving back to Switzerland.
Many people reading this won’t relate. In fact, most interviews are enthusiastic about living in Spain. But I think people also have to know about the less positive aspects of Spain (some of which we can all relate to). That’s why this interview is so interesting.
Name: Stefanie Gründler
Age: 42
Country of Origin: Austria, 10 years in Switzerland
Number of years in Spain: 9
Websites: Linkedin, Professional
Hi Stefanie! Thank you for doing this interview. I’m very interested in your story. Firstly: how did you end up deciding to move to Spain?
I moved to Spain because I was looking for a very specific kind of life.
I wanted a house with space, nature around me, and the possibility to live in a more rural setting. It was important that it was still reachable by car from Austria. And I never wanted to move to the south of Spain – I was always drawn to the north, to the green landscape and the climate.
Even today, I still love the landscapes. It’s beautiful, calm, and very grounding. I renovated the house myself and put a lot of heart, time and energy into it.
But over the years, my reality changed. I’m a single mother and I work independently in IT and EdTech. We develop software, but Spain is not our market. While I earn enough on paper, the combination of taxes, social contributions and structural disadvantages for self-employed people means that, in practice, there is barely enough left to live on.
After eight years, I had to admit to myself that this constant financial pressure was not sustainable for me. It affected my health and overshadowed everything else. At some point, you realise that loving a place is not enough if the conditions make everyday life a permanent struggle.
That insight didn’t come easily – but it was an important one.
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Why did you decide to settle in Cantabria? What is your living situation?
People often ask why Cantabria. The answer is simple: it’s green, it’s not unbearably hot, and yes — it even has snow 😊. That combination alone already feels like a small miracle.
I had an old stone house surrounded by 4.5 hectares of land. It’s genuinely beautiful — the kind of place that makes you believe, at least briefly, that life might slow down and make sense.
I run an EdTech company in Switzerland and used to work entirely from home, so on paper it sounded like the perfect setup: nature, space, flexibility, and meaningful work carried out remotely.
Reality, as it tends to do, added a few unexpected footnotes.
How is your Spanish and how well have you been able to integrate into life in Cantabria?
My Spanish is high level. I think it’s close to a C2, so I don’t have language issues. Yet I found it hard or nearly impossible to integrate. Even with a small son, I only have contact with expats.
You mentioned that Spain isn’t for you. I’ll ask about that in a minute. But when you first moved to Cantabria, did you like it? How long did the honeymoon period last?
Yes, I liked it and I thought that all these weird stories just occurred because expats didn’t integrate well, that they just didn’t organize their things well… My honeymoon period lasted about a year.
What’s happened Stefanie? What has changed your outlook on Spain?
I have a long list.
I had a severe problem with my third world electric installation. I called 20 electricians and nobody showed up.
Living in Spain felt a bit like running a financial obstacle course on expert mode. I earn well, I work hard, I’m a single parent — which, surprisingly, earned me exactly zero bonus points. Taxes and social contributions, however, showed up like clockwork, enthusiastic and relentless, and together they did a remarkably efficient job of bending my spine into new and interesting shapes.
Eating healthy is presented as a theoretical concept rather than a practical option. I would genuinely have loved to feed my son and myself decent food, but the choices seemed to be greasy, sugary, unavailable, or priced like artisanal jewelry. Fresh and high-quality food exists — somewhere — but finding it feels like a scavenger hunt designed by someone who hates vegetables.
Logistics operate on a philosophy best described as “because we can.” If the delivery driver doesn’t feel like coming to your house, congratulations: you are now the proud owner of a 20-kilometer pilgrimage to a remote parcel station. Appeals are futile. The driver is king, the driver is law.
Customer service, meanwhile, is a fascinating social experiment in human endurance. It doesn’t exist in any recognizable form. Major companies seem to function primarily by confusing, exhausting, and occasionally gaslighting their customers. Case in point: I purchased a roaming package for Switzerland from Movistar — via their hotline, no less. Upon returning, I was greeted by a €600 bill and the calm explanation that such a package has never existed, and that the recorded call where I bought it had mysteriously vanished into the void. Five hours of hotline purgatory later, I had learned nothing except patience — and despair.
Communication follows a similarly avant-garde model. Emails and phone calls are largely decorative. If you want something done, you must appear in person, repeatedly, and preferably with snacks. Everything takes forever. Urgency is considered impolite.
Driving is an adventure sport. Braking randomly on highways, parking wherever physics allows, and treating roundabout rules as optional creative suggestions are all part of the national charm. Survival is a skill you acquire quickly.
Processes are gloriously complicated. Everything is supposedly digital, modern, and online — until it isn’t. In the end, nothing works, and you’re told to print a form, sign it, and bring it to an office that closes before you finish reading the opening hours.
Northern cuisine proudly ignores the Mediterranean diet altogether. Meat, sausages, fat — repeat. Fresh products are not only expensive but also noticeably worse than what you’d find in Central Europe, which is impressive in its own right.
Infrastructure adds a touch of suspense to daily life. Power supply reliability feels more like a suggestion than a promise, and I’ve seen developing countries handle it with more confidence.
There’s also a strong collective suspicion toward anyone who works, earns money, or — heaven forbid — owns a business. Rent out an apartment at market prices, and you’re not a landlord, you’re a villain. Productivity is frowned upon; success is deeply suspicious.
Another thing that became impossible to ignore is how deeply subsidy-driven everyday life has become. A surprising number of people seem to live from subsidies rather than toward ideas. Initiative, innovation, and entrepreneurial thinking are often replaced by an almost ritualistic belief that there must be a grant for everything — preferably applied for through a process so slow and complex that momentum dies somewhere between form A and form Z.
Waiting becomes a lifestyle. Progress is postponed until funding is approved. Risk is avoided, not managed. The result is a system where survival is subsidized, but ambition quietly starves.
Of course, not everyone fits this pattern. But the mindset is normalized enough that it shapes the culture — rewarding patience over creativity and compliance over courage.
The secondhand market thrives — mainly on optimism. Every broken chair and questionable appliance is sold at prices suggesting historical significance.
And finally, the national pastime: complaining. About everything. Constantly. Without changing anything. It creates a pervasive low-grade grumpiness, a background noise of collective dissatisfaction that seeps into the atmosphere and gives the whole place a distinctly bad vibe.
You’ve decided to move back to Switzerland. How do you feel about that? Happiness, sadness, disappointment..?
Yesterday, I officially moved my residency to Switzerland. And I am genuinely happy about it.
Spain taught me a lot. It pushed me to my personal limits — sometimes gently, often not. I grew in ways I hadn’t planned, learned patience I didn’t ask for, and discovered strengths I didn’t know I would need.
Most importantly, I gained something immeasurably valuable: my son. He exists because I went there. For that alone, Spain will always have a place in my life. I don’t regret the decision. Not for a second.
But relief is also an emotion worth acknowledging. Relief to be back in a place where things work more predictably, where systems feel less like improvisation, and where daily life demands less emotional endurance.
Some chapters are meant to shape you — not to keep you forever. And this one did exactly that.
I’m grateful. I’m wiser. And I’m relieved to be home.
What advice would you give anyone thinking of moving to Spain Stefanie?
Don’t do it unless you desperately need a European citizenship as easy as possible. Buy a house there but stay less than 180 days to not become a resident.
Thank you for this interview Stefanie!
Related: What’s it like living in Almuñécar? (and why it didn’t work out for this couple)
Related: Things I wish I had known before moving to Spain
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