What I learned as a digital nomad moving to Spain — and what my parents learned as retirees trying to start a new life in Andalusia.
Part 1
My Side of the Story: “I’m moving to Spain as a digital nomad. How hard could this be?”
A few months ago, I decided I’d had enough of the grey London skies and the “WFH-but-never-leave-your-flat” routine. So I packed up my laptop, bought a one-way ticket to Málaga, and told myself:
“I’m going to become a digital nomad in Spain.”
It sounded glamorous, simple, very Pinterest-board, very Instagram-bio.
And for the most part, it was straightforward — until I hit the medical certificate requirement.
The Overwhelm Hits
If you’ve ever Googled “medical certificate Spain UK”, you’ll see exactly what I mean.
There were:
- websites with huge checklists
- forums full of panic
- embassy instructions that all felt a bit… short
- and private providers charging anywhere from £40 to £180
I spent half a day convincing myself I must be missing something. Why did some places say I needed an apostille? Why did another say I needed labs or x-rays? Why were people online talking about going to their GPs for letters their NHS practice refused to give?
Then I learned the magic words:
International Health Regulations (2005).
That one sentence is the entire point of the medical certificate for Spain.
It’s simply a doctor confirming you don’t have diseases of public-health concern — nothing dramatic, nothing invasive, nothing involving machines that go ping.
So I thought: “Perfect. Give me the certificate.”
Except… my NHS GP wouldn’t issue one.
And my medical records were a mess: half still with my old GP, half sitting in some digital purgatory.
Enter: private GP.
The Appointment That Saved Me
I booked an online GP consultation — the kind where you actually speak to a doctor, not just tick boxes on a form.
The GP asked me:
- about my past illnesses
- medication
- vaccinations
- mental health
- anything ongoing or relevant
- and confirmed I was fit for long-term residence in Spain
Fifteen minutes later, the certificate was on its way.
It had the IHR 2005 wording, the GP’s signature, the clinic stamp, the whole thing looked impressively “official.”
I finally exhaled.
And then came the real shocker:
My parents wanted to move too.
Part 2
My Parents’ Story: “We’re retiring to Spain. Can you do our paperwork?”
(Translation: “Please do all our paperwork.”)
My parents, after 40+ years of working in the UK, announced they’d like to retire to Andalusia — warm air, long lunches, white-washed villages.
They’d visited before and said they felt younger just being there.
But unlike my digital nomad application, theirs was the non-lucrative visa — which meant more financial proof, more documents, and (you guessed it) a medical certificate.
Except their journey was… different.
The Struggles Begin
First:
My parents couldn’t use half the online platforms. If the button wasn’t big and blue, they didn’t trust it.
Second:
Their NHS records were ancient. My mum had moved surgeries twice. My dad was told his records were “being transferred.” No timeline, no guarantee.
Third:
My dad takes medication for high blood pressure. Not a problem medically — but emotionally? He spiralled into:
“What if Spanish doctors think I’m too sick to retire?”
Fourth:
My mum couldn’t understand why she needed a medical certificate when “I’m only going to drink wine and read my books.”
And lastly:
They were terrified of getting something wrong and delaying their dream move.
The GP Consultation Saved Them Too
We booked the same online GP consultation service I used — the kind where the doctor takes their time. The GP reassured my dad:
“This certificate is not about rejecting you. It’s about public-health safety, not pre-existing conditions.”
They reviewed his medication, confirmed stability, and cleared him.
My mum?
Her biggest concern was whether she should mention her occasional vertigo. The doctor explained what’s relevant, what’s not, and what Spain actually cares about.
With that clarity, their certificate was issued, signed, stamped, formatted correctly, and ready for translation/apostille.
They slept peacefully that night.
Which is more than I can say for myself — I was still knee-deep in paperwork.
What I Wish We Had Known from Day One
1. The medical certificate is simpler than it sounds.
But only if it’s done by a GP who understands Spanish visa requirements.
2. The IHR-2005 wording is non-negotiable.
A generic “fit to travel” letter won’t be accepted.
3. Some providers DO NOT include a GP consultation.
We almost used one until realising they’d issue a certificate without speaking to us — dangerous for the applicant and risky for consulate rejection.
4. You may need translation + apostille.
This depends on your consulate. Some accept English; many don’t.
5. Start early — weeks early.
My certificate took a day.
My parents took closer to 3–4 weeks due to extra documents.
6. If you have no accessible medical records, a GP consultation is essential.
This is the biggest overlooked detail in most blogs and guides.
What Moved Me Most in This Journey
It wasn’t the paperwork.
It wasn’t the visa.
It wasn’t even the sunny dream of living near the sea.
It was this moment:
My parents and I sitting at a café in Málaga, exhausted but laughing, holding three stamped medical certificates — realising that this one small piece of paper was the bridge between the life we had and the life we wanted.