Learning To Fly

As much as we loved Madrid (how can I not love a city with a bear eating fermented berries as it's official symbol?) it was time to move to the shore. OK, that was the New Yorker in me coming out. We headed to the “coast” of Spain to enjoy Europe's playground, Barcelona. We had booked a flight from Madrid to Barcelona, as it would be much quicker than a train ride. Flying out of Madrid's airport on a domestic flight was an adventure and a lesson in patience and the power of a smile.

You could sense the chaos as the taxi pulled up to the departures area. People everywhere, with lots of baggage. Yep, both kinds. I think there was someone with a chicken. Yikes, and I thought Jon and I over packed. We entered the huge departures hall and had no idea where to go. My renewed respect for my great-grandparents and grandfather who came to America with nothing, not even language, continues to grow strong. How I wish I could talk to grandpa about my love for the capitol of Spain. It made me sad. It also made me think about how he always wanted me to learn Spanish. And I kicked myself. I was learning to fly all over again. Everyone, it seemed, was headed to Barcelona for the weekend. How cool that we were among them, I think I even said that to Jon.

We stood in what I'm sure everyone else thought was a line. Jon and I knew different. Think about your worst day at the DMV in America and then multiply that by, I don't know, like a thousand. The concept of a queue is lost in Spanish culture. Jon and I stood in line for about an hour with very little movement. Even Jon was becoming impatient, which never happens. Seeing an opportunity with an attractive young counter employee, I pounced. And smiled. As I approached the counter the employee smiled back. Cool. I showed our tickets to Barcelona and suddenly I was getting boarding passes. “Uno momento,” I said, running back to get Jon and our luggage. As we ran to the counter, Jon asked what I did. I told him all I did was smile. My grandmother told me a smile could get me out of anything. I never underestimate that advice. Boarding passes in hand, luggage checked, we headed for security. Lyrics in my head are: “Disarm you with a smile” by Smashing Pumpkins.

Security was very efficient and fast. When we arrived on the other side of security, we noticed on the monitors that our gate had changed. There were two older American women from NYC who were headed on a cruise from Barcelona also looking for the same flight on the monitors. The look on their faces when I smiled and began to speak in English to offer advice to them was amazing. As if they were communicating with some one else for the very first time. I knew exactly how they felt. It made me feel good to help them. It also felt good to actually know what I was doing.

We exited out of the terminal to the plane, via an outside stairway. I always feel like Paul McCartney when I enter an airplane this way and turn around at the top of the stairs to look back at Madrid- it felt a bit like home. A great working class, capitol city with great people and more history than I ever imagined.