Flying Through Madrid

It is pre-dawn when we touch down in Madrid. We follow the rest of the passengers through an otherwise empty airport, trusting that they know where they are going. We could be bison, following the herd. Well, tired bison.

Much like the flight we just made, the environment is other-worldly; the florescent lights inside the terminal define the limits of our world. Outside, it is still dark. We wait to board the next flight in various states of disorientation. Finally, we board.

Lisa takes the window seat and I sit in the center. The flight does not seem like it will be full, so I'm hopeful that the aisle seat will remain empty. We are a bit of a comical pair of travelers, Lisa and I: I simply cannot sleep on a plane, and she loses consciousness as soon as the cabin is pressurized. Her legs are short enough that her feet don't touch the floor, and I'm tall enough that my legs are jammed up against my chest, or contorted underneath the seat in front of me, or - sometimes - tangled about my fellow passengers. It's a good thing I practice yoga, or they might have to use the Jaws of Life to extract me at touchdown.

Someone pauses by our row and pushes a carry-on into the overhead bin. I look up and - it's Jorge. My momentary disappointment at losing an extra open seat disappears. We laugh, and finally introduce ourselves. We chat during the flight. I learn that he's from Miami, and that he's traveling to Barcelona to visit his son, who has an important position there. Jorge will be staying with his son for a few months. The conversation makes the already short flight pass more quickly.

Then we touch down in Barcelona. It is now light, and we follow Jorge to the luggage area. Our first bag is one of the first to come out. Our second does not come out. Ever.

We say our goodbyes to Jorge, who has all of his luggage.

Still tired, we locate the Department of Lost Luggage (DOLL) and make a complaint. We are told that our second suitcase is in Madrid, that it is fine, and that it is adjusting well. We convey that we miss our suitcase, and would like to see it again. We are reassured that our luggage will be shipped to our hotel soon. How soon? Oh, very soon. Planes come in from Madrid every hour, so by the afternoon at the latest, it should be here.

With that promise, we step out of the terminal and into Barcelona.