It’s kind of funny. In fact, it’s really funny. I’ve come full circle--my welcome home wouldn’t have been complete without an unscheduled travel disaster. The difference, not only did I make lemonade, I made a full on lemonade cocktail.
Let me back up.
So, Wednesday was a roller coaster of emotions. I had my last day at the highschool, shed some tears, said some goodbyes, and left with 2 bottles of Spanish wine...in a bag. Of course, I tried to bottle up all my emotions, sucking in deep breaths of shaky air, blinking back tears. Upon my final goodbye, I extended cards that were written thoughtfully, I hugged tightly, blinked back tears ineffectively, and hurried down the stairs--counting 1 to 10. It’s going to be okay, you’re okay.
I have never walked faster back to my apartment, ever. Once I was in my room, I closed the door behind me, laid down on the bed, looked out the window, and cried. I cried because I couldn’t pretend this adventure only needed to be closed with a smile, it needed genuine feeling too. I will miss you; these exotic places, warm faces, starry nights, running in fields of grass as tall as me, and standing awestruck before things that made me feel small. You have changed me--me de volvio la vida. Thank you. Muchisima gracias.
I went to Cordoba with Maria--a final haphazard Spanish excursion. We went to the mechanic to get her windshield wipers fixed; we stepped out of the car and the necks snapped to attention for a onceover, Rafa came roaring up on his motorbike (mullet flowing behind him) and screeched to a hault, rough housing briefly with the drunk man offering his services (all of them) to Maria. The head mechanic said he could fix them tomorrow, then Maria explained she wanted to have new ones in case it rained on the way to Cordoba--he said in that case, head over to the other Mechanic shop--Chumi (which Maria informed me also means pussy..awkward fun fact) if we wanted them done today. No pasa nada on getting business. We went to Chumi, got them fixed and sped onto the open road.
The rain had passed, the sun was shining, and we were out of gas. We made it about 5 minutes before rolling into Almodovar (the next town with that amazing castle I look at everyday). An elderly woman sweeping advised us the gas station actually wasn’t in the town but along the freeway. She said she didn’t know how to explain or give us directions. We smiled and pulled away before flagging down two men leaving the tennis courts--they gave us better directions and sure enough we made it to the gas station just in time. CONVENIENTLY located between two massive sunflower fields. I darted out of the car, ran across the highway, and snapped photos of the sunflowers. Sometimes, if you’re very lucky, bad luck leads you to a field of sunflowers. Sunday adventure..complete.
We went shopping, talked about life and love, shared a croissant and coke, before going back to Posadas to have dinner with Alfredo at..where else..Bar San Francisco. We originally wanted Pizza..but the two pizzerias are closed randomly on Wednesday. Paco was gracious as ever, making croquetas even though they weren’t on the menu, and supplying plates of plenty for my last Spanish meal. Maria laughed as Paco and I exchanged sincere goodbyes and thank yous, she said “He’s like your father!” Paco, the happiest man in Posadas. A small celebrity in my life.
For our goodbye, the one I was least looking forward to, I extended Maria brownies, gave her a big, long hug, and we said “See you soon.” I bounced back up the stairs at 1am, not crying, but smiling--content and excited. I took the longest hot shower I’ve ever had in Posadas, I waited to for the cold water to come--it never did. That’s when I started thinking this might be too easy, to be true. I finished packing, and watched an episode of Sex and the City before deciding at 3:45 to get two steps ahead by lugging my massive suitcases down the 3 flights of stairs to the front entrance of the apartment building (so Antonio and I wouldn’t have to do it at 4am).
It was probably quite a sight, as of the airport check in, my big bag was 74 pounds. The smaller one probably 50 lbs. Not to mention, my traveler’s back pack that is up to my stomach placed beside me, and of course, my laptop shoulder bag..topped with blankie and my favorite pillow. Eventually, after stumbling down in the dark (the lights were on a timer and my hands were full), I had broken a sweat and leaned against my pile--independence.., check.
I gave more brownies to Antonio’s father for taking me to the Seville airport; a man you can tell knows how to have a good laugh. Neither of them were as tired as I was, the Spanish are wired differently, and Antonio had stayed up late studying anyway. We ate the brownies and drove to Seville in the dark, driving towards the sunrise.
We arrived to the airport at 5:15 am. My flight was set to leave at 7:15. After a few travel hiccups (including having to pick up my bags in Portugal and re check-in with U.S. Airways..150 pounds of luggage...yikes). I tried to argue but eventually found myself surrendering, doing the double-cheek kiss “hasta pronto” and struggling to make it through security. I trodded passed puertas 1-7, when I saw her. The unhelpful lady from check-in..”Sorry..the flight was cancelled.” I stared, dead pan. The world stopped moving. “Cancelled?”, “Yes, you need to go down to the first floor and pick up your bags, then come back in to get re-scheduled.” I sighed, putting my weight on one leg..”I’m not going to the United States today, am I?” She shrugged uncomfortably, waving as I stood there--no homecoming? No glorious return? It can never be that easy, can it?”
I called Antonio, it was ironic because I had just been telling him I was praying my flight went off without problems..being the queen of travel complications. They drove back to meet me, to make sure I was getting on a flight--the flight was at 2pm, the next morning flight would be on the 13th of June. I think not. So my choice was to stay in a hotel in Portugal, and then try and figure out my next flights to the United States from Portugal. Portuguese. I think not. I pulled out whatever determination was left, argued with her until I was blue in the face, called the airline..”Sorry, our travel arrangement office is closed.” Que fuerte. I sat--trying to accept the idea that I would be in Posadas again that day as Antonio told me not to worry his Mom was making up a bed for me already. I sighed, looking around me, more goodbyes? No puedo. It sounds strange, but I couldn’t go back--I wanted to go forward. Always moving forward. Even if that means going to another country, not speaking the language, and hoping somehow the travel gods will smile upon you.
5 minutes before the 2pm flight took off, U.S Airways caved in and let me switch my flights without fees and I would be taking the 10:35 flight to Philadelphia from Lisbon, then 3 hours later onto Phoenix. Almost the same as was originally planned after I got there. I had my tentative, shaky travel plans written on a piece of paper by TAP. Antonio stayed until I went through security (1 PM this time) after we had been talking, drinking coffee, and babbling about our future adventures when it comes to the United States. I can’t wait. He was my guardian angel before I left, buena gente to the fullest.
After we landed in Portugal on the smallest, smallest, tiniest, plane I’ve ever been on--a group of us were standing down at the baggage claim, I laughed and said..”I’m not counting on my bags making it..it’s that kind of day.” Somehow, 5 other Americans were on my flight--and we were all heading home after long journeys..Jess and Katie had stayed in the airport over night (Which kicks you out from 1:00-4:30..how horrible?!). A couple from California, the girl had just finished her study abroad in Sevilla and her boyfriend who came to backpack, 2 other teachers from my Program, and another girl who had moved to Spain permanently and had a job in an after school program. We bonded together and traversed the pseudo chaos of the Portugal airport, 3 hours later, sharing cabs to the airport hotel. We decided to go walking around the city instead of sleeping--might as well make the most of it. We shared stories about our excursions, room mates, schools, and lives at home. We all forgot we were stuck there, feeling like we were on a weekend trip with our good friends--it was the oddest thing how well we all got along.
The streets of Portugal are original, all the way down to the groundwork--uneven black cobble stones, narrow streets, and unique characters passing by you. Music surrounds you around every other corner, from folk singers to orchestras playing outside an expensive restaurant. The streets are like San Francisco, and we got an unwelcome leg workout after carrying our bags all day. It’s a different language, but it’s like being dropped into a mix of cultures. It has elements of Paris, London, Greece and Morocco. Difficult to explain, but worth experiencing. The hotel had wifi so I was able to skype my mom finally and tell her I had made it to Portugal but wouldn’t be coming home. She said to have fun and do some sight seeing, home would be waiting tomorrow--like mother like daughter?
By the time we crawled back into our hotel rooms after an unexpectedly elegant dinner, I found myself lulling off to sleep, happy, with memories of the travel disruption and stress forgotten. It felt like I would be going back to Posadas after a weekend trip instead of moving home. Dreams of Lisbon’s ocean view were interrupted as people started making lots of noise in the hallway, yelling and clamoring around. I tried to ignore the sounds, and eventually whipped off the covers, stomped to the door, and said “POR FAVOR! SILENCIO!” I laughed to myself when I laid back in bed--I had reprimanded them in Spanish..not English.
I woke up to tired eyes, a drag in my step, and a giant body ache. I put on my upbeat playlist and took a long shower without worrying about a blast of cold water. We went down to breakfast, ate quickly, and then went back to our rooms to grab our bags. Jess and I teamed up to help eachother. I stood waiting,after she had taken the first set down the elevator, for 20 minutes, waiting for an un-full elevator. There was a French tour group of atleast 100, who stared at me like I was the devil when the doors popped open and I was leaning against my bags. The doors were abruptly shut thereafter.
Finally I made it downstairs, pushing the bags in front of me like two baby strollers, awkwardly. The man laughed, “Is your life in here or what?” I smiled and said..”Basically.”
So, in short, I made it towards the next leg of the journey. I’m in the sky, staring out over the choppy ocean. I’m not nervous, stressed, or afraid. I’m just looking forward to the next adventure, oddly that adventure is home. The girls shared my sentiments about going home--but just like the rest of these past months, I’m going to take it on with a smile, figure it out as I go, and just do the best I can.
I can’t wait to see you. Thanks for supporting me in all this--listening when I was worried and shaken, for understanding me when I wanted to leave, for giving that little push of confidence when I needed it, and for welcoming me back home. I’m thankful, for having people in my life that have a knowing look, a hand to hold, and familiar smiles. Love you, te quiero. And oh my goodness..see you soon!
I have to tell you..in all seriousness..the fanny pack is so convenient. That's why they were so popular. Who needs a shoulder bag when you can have all your essentials conveniently located in a little pouch? Likewise when your cell phone is going off in your fanny pack..a nice glow effect is created. Fanny packs really up the ante of any outfit..especially... when dazzling with 80s-esque dance moves. I wish I could wear it everyday. Maybe i'll bring them back.
