» I’m still asleep, actually – the coffee did nothing AKA Abraham Bacoln

I’m still asleep, actually – the coffee did nothing

July 28, 2007, 1:58 am
Filed under: Spain

Uff, what a day(s).

I got up on Friday morning, feeling a bit ill. I’m sure that was just stress with regards to my test, having to get my luggage ready, knowing I was leaving, etc. Sure enough after the test I felt better. I finished up my classes by 2:30 and actually found myself sad to be leaving the school grounds for the last time.

My last lunch with the family was great, as usual. A soup of lentils and chorizo, a tortilla (did I tell you already that that means something different in Spain? – a potato and egg pancake-piething about an inch thick), a side salad of tomatoes, green peppers, and onions, and dessert was fruit and ice cream. It was SO GOOD.

I spent the afternoon packing my luggage and sleeping, and then went out with Ludi. We ended up at the bar at the beach near the school where all the staff is rude and the prices aren’t that great. However, it’s close and has a great view of the sea and downtown MÃ¡laga, so that’s worth something. We got cocktails for once instead of the usual red wine. Mixing it up! Living on THE EDGE!

I needed to be at the airport at 11:00 PM to check in, so I decided to leave the house at 10:00. You know, to be safe. The MÃ¡laga taxi service is intensely efficient. Now I don’t know how the phone numbers are laid out in MÃ¡laga but it’s entertaining to watch the Sra. call a taxi. She dials 952 33 33 33 (easy enough to remember, right?) and then when someone answers all she says is ’36’, the apartment number. No neighborhood, no street name … just the number. The taxi service is that good. Like magic.

The taxi arrived before she’d even put the phone down and I was on my way. I had just enough money with me to be able to take a taxi to the airport and maybe grab a snack there (because I had neglected to eat dinner). Well, planning to be early worked in my favor, because we got stuck in a miles-long traffic jam almost immediately. We crept along as I watched both the meter and the clock, and finally things cleared up about a half-mile from the airport.

When we finally stopped the meter read 32.84â‚¬ and I had only 31â‚¬ to my name. He was gracious and accepted the lesser amount, of course. It was a good thing because I would have hated to have to kill a guy my last day in Spain. At least I arrived with 15 minutes to spare before the start of check-in.

Aaaaaand of course once I got through security I went to the food court which was still open at midnight, amazingly, and found that HOORAY their credit card machine was down, which meant NO FOOD FOR ME. I sat around and listened to Mitch Hedberg to improve my mood. Once they finally announced our gate I headed in that direction and found another little store still open at 12:45 at night and they sold me a bacon and onion panini, hot even. I was worried about having that kind of food sitting in my stomach before a flight but NOT TO WORRY, my flight was DELAYED.

Actually this was the first time in history that I haven’t cared about my flight being delayed, because I knew I was looking at a seven-hour layover in London/Gatwick airport. In fact, that’s where I am right now. I slept for a while on a bench downstairs and it made me proud. Finally I’m one of those people.

There should be a law that one should never have to disembark from a plane at 4:00 AM and try to understand an airport’s rules with regards to immigration, customs, and so forth. Long story short since the departure area isn’t open at 4:00 AM I had to officially enter the UK, so it’s now stamped on my passport, and here shortly I’ll depart again. I debated looking for a train or something into downtown London but decided against it on account of A.) it was 4:00 AM and my eyelids were closing whether or not I wanted them to, and B.) I’ll be damned if I’m gonna miss my flight back home. So. I slept on a bench, with my belt functioning as some odd umbilical cord to keep my carryon attached to me and a red bandanna over my eyes making it look like I was waiting for the firing squad instead of my airplane.

And now … well, now I’m here. In Gatwick, not speaking Spanish anymore, listening to some beautiful English accents, and some horrible English accents, and oh man I saw this girl here … she … man. I saw her from the side and she looked like someone I knew in Portland. When she turned to look at the monitor above my head, though, I almost choked on my breakfast. She had thick thick glasses and was slightly walleyed – those combined with the shape of her face made her look uncannily like Brick Top from the movie Snatch. I could hear his voice coming out of her mouth.

To finish: six weeks ago on the way out to Spain I had my watch set to Spanish time. It seemed believable, like a little trick I was going to have to do. Oops, got to lose a few hours! *poof*

Now I keep looking at my watch, at Cookeville time, and this trick looks a whole lot more difficult. I have to make time appear. I don’t know how to do that one. I mean, it’s 7:52 AM here in London and 1:52 AM at home, and … how does that work again? It’s no wonder people get jetlag. I am not equipped either intellectually or physically to deal with this kind of thing.

4 Comments

4 Comments so far
Leave a comment