In a month from today (well, in a month and 18 minutes from today) I’m going to Spain!
While lazily perusing cheaptickets.com last Friday during my lunch (yes–this is something I do for fun whenever I dream about Iberia, which is often), I came across something so shocking as to choke me on my Earl Grey: a roundtrip ticket from Bradley to Madrid for less than $500. I don’t remember what happened between my first glance at the air fare and the arrival of my flight confirmation to gmail ten minutes later, but I do know for a fact that I’ll be going to my second home for nine days in January.
Elated, I made inquiries and discovered that not only will I see my sweet Morgan and Rachel–two of my fellow former Fulbrighters now pursuing schooling in Spain’s capital–but David, my dear, smart Basque friend, will be home for holidays from Scotland where he now resides and, somehow, miraculously, in Madrid. To slick just a little more icing on my slice of sweet, rich, soul-filling cake, Ali, on vacation from Germany, will get into Barajas the night before I fly out. There will be enough time for dinner, for acquainting our friends with one another, for hugs, and for stories. I will set up an appointment to visit Ramiro de Maeztu and hope that Nicolás and Angela remember me. And even if they rub small, insidious Spanish germs on me, I don’t care. Bring on the besos and bring on the love. I’m ready and more than willing.
Oh my God! And I can get a Spanish haircut from Adrian! (No–I refuse to even consider that he won’t be right at the salon where I left him!)
My heart feels so good right now I’m not sure what to do with myself. Something deep down in the center of my being responds to Madrid–to the people I’m to find there, to everything I left behind and arguably ought not to have–and sings. I’m going to bed happy, anticipatory, and smiling.