Que mas. . .

Okay so the seatmates on my first two flights were lame-brain, right? Well finally I sat by someone decent on the way to Madrid. That made the trip better, but I was so exhausted that I was really out of it, and I actually got a migraine on the way over. Suffice to say that I nearly threw up, but it turned out fine.

I actually felt pretty great when we arrived at Shannon for refuelling. It was rainy there, but the pilot assured us that the weather in Dublin would be nice.
I guess nice for the Irish means cold and rainy, because that's what we got. Then it was an eight hour layover. What all did I see during my brief time in Ireland. . .


1) the staff at the Dublin airport, the ones who help you queue through security, wear lime green and hot pink outfits


2) there is a guy out there who looks exactly like Harrison the lifeguard, except with dark hair. I mean exactly, with short hair, a big beard, cutoff pants, and little deck shoes/moccasins.


3) they have Claire's in Ireland


4) there's more but I forgot it. I spent so much time there, but half of it I think I was sleeping. At one point I really thought I had slept through boarding for my flight.


So next thing I knew, I was in MADRID! I slept all the way here!
The airport was pretty big. They had a whole huge floor devoted to baggage claiming, and I couldn't help but think that if my life were a musical, as I so often wish it were, that area would be a spectacular setting for a song and dance number.
I caught a cab to get to my hotel. . . and my driver had no idea where it was. Please tell me what kind of cabbie has to stop and ask for directions?!
My life got so much better at the hotel. When I'd booked the hotel, one of the reviews had mentioned Javier, and how helpful he was. If by helpful they meant hot, they were right on. (They could have also meant that he was actually helpful, which he also was. He was both.) When I needed to buy some internet, I went down to the front desk rather than call. It was so worth it. Even better was the wake up call in the morning. Long story short, if anyone is ever taking a trip to Madrid, I highly recommend the Holiday Inn Express.
Just call ahead of time to get the shuttle to pick you up- it's only 8 euro, and a cab is about 25. I should mention, though, that the rooms were super tiny. It's nothing personal, just a European thing I guess.
The next day, Thursday, I had to get a taxi from there to the hotel for IES orientation, so the hotel called me a cab. First question (of many) from the cabbie: "Are you American?" I reluctantly told him that I was. "New York or California?" was his next question. I told him Kansas, but I think he was confused.
He started telling me about his experience in New York- I guess he had a good time, because he kept saying, "America, I love you!"
Then things got awkward. "Eres una chica bonita," he said, turning around to look at me. I tried to thank him politely. "You know what this means?" he asked. "Uh, yeah." "Yes, you are chica bonita. Es fantastic."

There were a few lulls, but he passed the time asking me about the presidential election (he's a McCain supporter? If I heard him correctly, it was because Obama is black and Sarah Palin is hot), how old I was, whether I was married, and what my name was.

For the first time, I ran into the much anticipated pronunciation problems. For anyone who doesn't know, in Spain, c's and z's, when they usually make an s sound, make a th sound instead. He pronounced my name just fine when I told him what it was, but when he asked me to spell it, he started pronouncing it totally differently. I just gave up.

To break the awkward silence, he started hitting on me again. "You are so beautiful," he told me. "La cara, el cuerpo. . . oh it's fantastic." It was starting to seem like overkill. I thanked him, hoping that would stop it. In my peripheral vision, I could see that he was looking at me in the rearview mirror- he even adjusted it a few times. "Your eyes- the color- it is so original," he said next. I just kind of started nodding and smiling uncomfortably. "Eres una chica bonita. You know what this is? La cara, los ojos, las piernas. . . ohmygod." I'm not lying when I say that he was spending more time turned around in his seat looking at me than driving and watching the road. He even unbuckled his seatbelt.
I was so relieved to arrive at the hotel.

[I just want to add that one of the girls here told me that some Spanish guys just like to go out and hit on girls when they're bored. It's like a pasttime or a hobby for them- nothing personal. That made me feel better.]