The plane ride from Seattle to London got off to kind of a rocky start as I tried to explain to the fat little Indian woman decked out in the prettiest sari that I had the window seat next to her and she needed to actually get up and move so that I could get to my seat. She clearly did not speak or understand English, so I stood there pointing to me and pointing to the seat just past her for a good three minutes before she realized I wasn't attempting a Bollywood dance. This set the tone for the rest of our in-flight relationship. Despite the fact that no one ever boarded the plane with a ticket seating them on the aisle of our row, this fat little woman would not sit in the empty aisle seat, allowing for one empty buffer between us. Instead she sat right next to me, touching me the entire flight with either wisps of sari or rolls of flesh.
The best/worst moments: The meal arrives, hers is special-order vegetarian and comes first. This means that i get to watch her eat. She apparently doesn't see, doesn't care, or doesn't know how to use the fork and knife provided and proceeds to butter her naan with her fingers--getting butter everywhere. She also molests her salad, by sifting through the lettuce with her fingers in the same way I tear through my dirty clothes bin when I think I've left money in the pocket of something at the bottom. Not pretty. The other great moment is when she wakes me up in the middle of the fake night that they create for you on the plane by making everyone pull down their window shades, to yell at me in hindi that I need to turn off my overhead light which is actually her overhead light. I point to her, point to the light, point to the arm rest control on the other side of her, point to her, point to the light, point to the exact button on the armrest control on the other side of her... no response. I reach around her and slam my finger on the button, the light shuts off, and so I point to the light, and to her for one last dramatic effect. She goes and does the hindu head wiggle which is the Indian equivalent of saying "whatever." Thanks.
The plane arrives late at terminal 4 in London/Heathrow. We touch down at about 12:25, I have to be at my gate at 12:45--on the other side of the airport, in terminal 1, which is literally miles away--it's a big airport. I get off the plane and make it to the terminal bus at 12:40. We sit on the bus for six minutes. There's another woman from my flight who is trying to catch the same plane to Madrid, we exchange nervous glances. My gate is supposed to close at 12:45, I still have to go through security. The bus pulls up to the entrance for terminals 1,2, and 3. I'm off running. The other passenger calls out for me to have them hold the plane... I lose valuable time at security when the x-ray machine operator informs me that I have to put my laptop back in my bag and should not have removed it in the first place--what? Who cares? I sprint--I mean SPRINT--through the airport, dodging tourists, euro-men's capris, and the ubiquitous beturbaned security guards who try to yell at me to "take it easy" and "slow down." I get to the gate, sweating, red, to discover that the plane is delayed, but no one thought to update the status on the departures displays... So I sit and wait and sweat a little more. The woman from my flight shows up with plenty of time to spare, having leisurely walked the entire way since she had already resigned herself to the idea of missing the flight. I forgive her and we strike up conversation.
Elena is from Madrid and met her American husband while doing some insane rock climbing in Canada, where she worked at the time. They fell in love and now he lives with her in Spain (where you can climb year-round) and they travel back to Seattle to visit his family once every year or so. This woman is seriously ripped. I think she can do pullups with just one pinky finger, for like an hour. She also kind of looks like Penelope Cruz (my contacts were dry and sticking to my eyes, but I'm standing by it).
I sleep the entire flight to Madrid, which is short, but as I'm sleeping when we actually touch down and land, I think the plane is going down and we're all going to die. But what's really interesting is that this thought of "we're all going to die" takes over my brain as I snap out of my nap, I immediately open my window so I can watch...? That's when I discover, we're not crashing, we're here!
Things have changed, and some things will probably always be the same. I step off the plane and am met with the familiar smell of Europe: cigarettes. But there are no smokers in sight. In fact, the airport is almost brand-new and you can only smoke in designated glass cages. But I think they buy cigarette air fresheners, to keep up reputation. The first time I arrived in Spain, eight years ago, I stepped off the plane and everyone around me lit up. Not so anymore. And the airport is absolutely beautiful. It was a pleasure to walk through, and not just because I wasn't late for anything.
Elena and I walk to baggage together and exchange email. She offers to help me if I need anything in Madrid and asks me to email her about my trip to the Himalayas. We run out of conversation after two hours of waiting for our bags to show up. Which they never do. Thank goodness Elena was with me, she decides to handle everything. The equivalent of The Port of Madrid handles every lost bag claim for all the airlines, so when we make our claims we're not working with pleasant Mary Poppins British Airways types, but rather the "what's customer service?' Spanish types. I am assured my bag will arrive by Friday. Elena takes me aside and says, plan for longer than that, it might take two to three weeks.
We part ways and head for information to get a map. Javier at information pretends he doesn't speak Spanish or English... and he thinks it's funny. I think I might kill him or cry. Turns out he's from Boston and we're immediately best friends. He moved back to Spain when he was fifteen and has been in Madrid for over ten years, but still speaks perfect English with an insane Southie accent. He and I exchange email too. Now I have two friends!
I catch the Metro--which has exploded since I was last here (not literally, and after the terrorist train bombings in Spain I should really be more sensitive). The underground system is amazing. My trip is a long one, but easy since I don't have a suitcase. I check into my hostel without fuss and despite having a room with two of the tiniest, not even the size of twin beds, I will not have a roommate. There's air conditioning, a tv, private bathroom, a safe, and most importantly, free wireless internet!
I run out the door to get supplies. Shopping! I hit up Zara's sale and grab a few things since my bag could never come. Despite finding cheap clothes easily, I am saddened by bad news: Zara no longer makes my favorite and signature scent. They have a whole line of new perfumes that are just not as good. I explain to one of the sales girls that my bags are lost and she allows me to stay past closing time to get everything I need. Then I run to the farmacia to buy soap. The two women there are a total riot and spent the entire time I was shopping gossiping about the neighboring restaurant owners. They are very helpful and ask me where I'm going (I'm buying all travel size stuff), I explain about the bags and suddenly they realize I'm foreign. From the few words in Spanish, she assumed I was native! They were both so incredibly helpful and swap out some of the stuff I was buying for samples they had tucked away in the back. One of the women invites me to come back to meet her for lunch the next day and actually walks me out to the street.
I shower--thank god--in the smallest tub, and am reminded of the bucket system in India... shower heads are special, don't take them for granted. Then off to find food! I wander into a restaurant close to the hostel and explain to the waiter that I don't eat meat, and can I get some of the dishes without the copious amounts of jamon? He thinks that my Spanish is bad and I don't understand that I'm telling him I'm a vegetarian... so he gets the owner. The owner offers to come up with something vegetarian. Apparently this translates into a giant plate of grilled vegetables and nothing else. It's amazing, delicious, perfect. And he refuses to let me pay--I'm his first vegetarian!
I wander around the city to take some photos and enjoy the night, then it's time for bed.
I think I did okay for my first day. I made friends, mastered the Metro, passed for a Spanish-speaker, clothed myself, ate dinner at the reasonable hour of midnight and turned in finally past two am. I'm already happy to be here.
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