Àlvaro met me at the train station around lunch time, and after dropping my bags off at the hotel, we went to a pizza place to eat. The pizza, however, did not look very appealing, so we both ended up with pasta.
I like this guy; he's really silly and random and easy to talk to.
However, I was faced with the task of describing my trip, my experience, my tiempo.
I don't know how to do that. I don't know how to say everything it was within a few words. In fact, I don't even know where to begin.
This is how I imagine school will be like on Monday:
"Wait, you went to Spain for four months?"
"Yep"
"That's cool, how was it?"
"Pretty good, America?"
"Fine."And ya está, aparcado.
After lunch, Álvaro had to go back to the office, and I decided to accompany him because I didn't want to be twiddling my thumbs alone in a hotel room on my last day in Spain. 
I'm really really glad I went, because Álvaro printed out a map of the city when we got to the office, circled where we were, put boxes around interesting places, and let me free into the city with the instructions "Don't lose anything and don't get raped". Good enough for me!
I walked down the calle for a while until I came across a Starbucks.....which I simply HAD to duck into. They got my name a little wrong....Norgan instead of Morgan. Buen trabajo, Starbucks. After that, I walked to "La Plaza del Sol" which was absolutely packed with people around a big fountain and a Christmas tree that grazed the clouds.
I talked to a few people, using my last opportunities for Spanish, and left when a weird 23 year-old Turkish guy with Spanish worse than mine was bugging me about grabbing a coffee with him.
Liiiiife.
By this time it was night, and I hardly have words for how beautiful Madrid is at night. The buildings are all sooooo old and tall and unique, and the illumination the lights of a bustling city creates a really other-wordly effect. I'm just now grasping the significance of being able to do that; walk through an unfamiliar city in a different country with ease, ability, and comfort.
I have come a long way.
Every time I heard someone speak English, I could hardly contain myself and couldn't stop turning my head and I had to keep putting my eyes back into their sockets. I've been away from English so long that I don't actually know how to act or simply be with English speakers...I can't even speak English very smoothly anymore. I've been reeeeeally low on sleep lately from Iria's late nights on the computer (she was up until 6am or 7am on Tuenti and Twitter banging away at that keyboard...mátame) and so I can't even function like a normal human. All I can think about is that I will not be returning to my pueblo tonight.
I went to dinner with Alvaro and my English was deteriorating quickly. I was saying weird things that didn't make sense, but somehow we still ended up laughing a lot. Hugo (remember him?) texted me saying sorry and I let Alvaro handle the rest, which turned out to be rather comical. I think I'll even miss Hugo and his "strange feelings that I must understand" says his friend Alberto.
I crashed into my gigantic bed in my big, fancy, Madrid hotel room and fell fast asleep around midnight with a promise to meet Alvaro at 3:50am. Goooood. I woke up around 2:45 to shower, and then off to the aeropuerto we were. Alvaro, bless his soul, handled everything for me. I could hardly speak because my throat was so tight and my mouth was so dry. Why did I have to leave?
I said an abrupt goodbye to him and then found my gate, where I sat with my music just crying and crying and unable to believe the current situation: My adventure is over.
We began to board and I realized I had lost my chaqueta en securidad.......I explained my case in Spanish, sprinted to retrieve it, and overcame my last big Spanish issue with surprising ease. I said goodbye to Spain and found myself all too quickly facing a goodbye to Europe as well.
That was one looooong flight.
9 hours and 20 minutes.
I slept for about a half hour in total I think......most of the time I was just shocked. Absolutely shocked. And remembering. And hating every second that the plane was carrying me away. Pure hatred.
Chicago was a crazy fiasco.
First I had to wait an hour to get through customs; it is super hard to get back into this country, geesh. Then I had to search for my guitar, which went through a wave of problems, but I eventually had it in my clutches and rechecked my suitcase; then I made my way through security and started hunting for gate B22A.
Where did I go?
Gate B2.
Good job, Morgan!
I realized that that plane was going to Houston, and then high-tailed it to the other end of the B section. As soon as I got there, the flight people informed me that my plane had changed gates to C27. Bueno.
So then I had to find C27, and by the time I got there I was absolutely drenched in sweat from that 34-pound guitar. Ew.
To top it all off, that plane was delayed like 6 hours due to maintenance. Perfecto.
I was in the coche all too soon with my dad, surrounded by snow and American things.
All too soon, all too normal, all too heartbreaking.
Who's ready for the first day of school Monday?
Not Morrgahn
No comments:
Post a Comment