That's a Wrap

Madrid

We don't bother to unpack. The room in the Hostal Rober, here in the center of Madrid, is so small that we have to shift our suitcases from the foot of the bed to the side to get through to the bathroom. Then, if we want to go out, we have to shift it back. We finally put the luggage on top of the bed and leave it there until we sleep.

What our room lacks in size, however, is made up in location. We are right in the center of Madrid, and when we walk out the front door, we are in the middle of movement, sound and color. It is our kind of place. We immediately head out to get lunch, and then to get lost in the downtown.

After walking the streets all afternoon, we come across an Irish pub, La Fontana de Oro, and stop in for a pint. To our surprise, the Irish pub has several Irish patrons inside. We've run across very few Americans in all of our travels, so the English is a pleasant change of pace. We sip Newcastle and enjoy the conversation. I lose my sunglasses but find an umbrella on the floor beneath our table. As it is pouring outside, it seems like a fair trade.

Thursday Lisa wakes up with a cold and flu combination; her body aches, her throat hurts, and her stomach is upset. She is a trooper, however, and decides that the best remedy is a long walk. We walk and shop all day, taking advantage of our last afternoon to pick up souvenirs for the kids. The shopping is much cheaper here than anywhere in Italy; I end up buying myself a coat for less than five euro.

There are sex shops in several places downtown, lit up like the Las Vegas strip. I notice that there are provocatively dressed young women in front of several of these locations, standing and smoking. Waiting. They are the only people that don't seem to have a destination in mind. Lisa and I do the math, and laugh. We aren't in Kansas anymore.

We eat lunch at La Taurina, whose decor has a bull fighting theme. There are bulls heads mounted along the walls, and pictures of bullfights. Having spent a lot of time around livestock growing up, I try not to imagine what they would look like alive; live cattle always have mucous coming out of their nostrils in streams. I keep my imagination in check, however, and the food is delicious.

Over the Atlantic

The flight home is the longest I've ever endured. We are heading west over the Atlantic, and because we are following the path of the sun, it is perpetually noon. The six hours we lost on the trip over is added back, so we have a 30 hour day, 11 hours of which are spent in the air.

I read, I write, I scribble. I fantasize about what we'll be brought for lunch. There is a movie on with Spanish subtitles, so I assume that it's in English. It turns out to be French, however, and I have already been confused enough with Spanish and Italian. A third romantic language is too much. I go back to my book.

Lisa, meanwhile, sleeps. She can sleep anywhere; she sleeps during the cab ride to the the airport, during the flight, and during the drive home. I envy her.

It's a really, really long flight. We arrive in Chicago two hours late, at night, in a downpour. Our friend Les drives us from Chicago back home, and I force myself to stay awake, catching up on everything that's happened since we left.

Back Home

Something seems different.

I'm not sure what it is, exactly, but as I walk through the downstairs, the house looks strangely empty. I sit at my desk, drinking coffee, pondering this, and finally it dawns on me; after all of the narrow streets and tiny, crowded hotel rooms of Europe, the house looks big. I can relate to a comment that I had laughed at from my British brother-in-law when he visited us: 'It's amazing how big the houses are here.' I guess my perspective has been changed at least that much over the three weeks overseas.

But it's more than that, really. Lisa has commented several times on how interesting it is to be in a place where the news, what little of it we have watched, is so non US-centric. We watch the BBC one night, and while it is in English, it is so unlike the news at home; it seems to be a series of local interest stories. The United States is a minor detail.

Lisa has been most affected by being in countries where English is not spoken, or not spoken much. She comments that she has so much more empathy now for non-English speaking people here in the US. I'm less affected, as I speak Spanish pretty fluently, and I have learned enough Italian to at least make myself understood and to get around.

So our trip is...over. We'll be traveling again, however; probably next year. Where? We're not sure.

Maybe Morocco.