I'm back in Santiago--for real, this time. My trip back was pretty awful. Things went rather smoothly from Dulles to JFK and then from JFK to Madrid...as far as planes leaving on time and such. I had an interesting conversation on the plane to Madrid with a 22-year-old New Yorker named Tristan who is going to Madrid until June to learn Spanish because he has some friends who live there. I asked him if he'd already signed up for a class or anything and he looked at me strangely and was like, "No...I think I'll just pick it up there. Then I'll look for a job." He was really nice, but he was reading Learn Spanish in 24 Hours and kept interrupting me throughout the flight (even when I was sleeping!) to ask me how to say various phrases. He fit everything he needed for the whole 5 months into a normal-sized backpack and carried a rucksack with a ukelele. I asked him about the ukelele which he said he carried "to meet people" and, of course, then he took it out and graced me and everyone else waiting for luggage from Delta Flight 126 to his rendition of "Over the Rainbow." I'm sure that the other passengers were thanking him inside.
It was nice to have someone to talk to while waiting in line, and he showed me where the left luggage lockers were. As it happens, we ended up riding the metro together almost all of the way to the museums. I had a 12-hour layover in Madrid, so I walked around the city and went to the Prado and Reina Sofia, but I was so exhausted that I had a hard time staying awake in the museums. At one point, I sat down on a bench in the Prado and started dozing--I woke up just in time to see a docent approaching me, so I walked outside for a few hours in the snow to keep myself awake. Madrid got something like two inches of snow, which hasn't happened in years, so, of course, the city was going crazy. After about 7 hours in Madrid, I headed back to the airport to catch my 9 o'clock flight.
The airport was horrible--there were long lines everywhere and hundreds of flights were canceled due to the weather. Fortunately my flight hadn't been canceled, so I waited for check-in time (I tried to check in early, but was refused). By check-in time, my flight had been canceled and I was told to wait at the Ryan Air counter. After standing in line for three hours (I read 80 pages and watched the entire West Side Story (it was the 99-cent rental on iTunes this week), I was put on a flight to Santiago on Saturday, the following day. I frantically searched my phone for the number of someone who lived in Madrid, but had no luck, so I asked the flight attendant where I could find last-minute lodging. She told me to ride the metro to the "Barajas" stop, where there were "tons of hotels"--mind you, I had unwisely packed three suitcases--two rolling bags and a duffel bag, as well as my backpack--so I wasn't in the mood to wander around by myself. As it happens, the Barajas metro stop is in a suburban area just outside of the airport, and I had to walk for quite a while before I could find a hotel (maybe it just seemed like a long time because I was a) by myself and b) it was cold and c) it was snowing and d) when it's snowing, rolling suitcases pull the snow along), but a kindly Spanish couple pointed me to the Best Western. I was lucky enough to get the last room, a triple, but they let me pay the single rate--I was only going to be there for a few hours.
When I arrived at the airport the following morning, an eight-year-old waiting in the Ryan Air line started yelling at her parents and screaming (in Spanish). About ten seconds after the screaming ended, she began to vomit--it was pretty disgusting to watch, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. All of the flight attendants were staring, yet no one made a motion to have someone clean it during the three hours I waited--not even the janitors, two of whom came by and swept around the vomit. I can only hope that she didn't have a horrible contagious disease, because I had to wait in the line with the vomit.
I don't think I've ever been so happy to get back to Santiago. Not much has changed in the two-and-a-half weeks since I've been away, except now we have a TV! It was a gift from one of Ana's well-off friends, who spilled wine all over it at a party we attended but very kindly had it repaired and gave it to Ana for Christmas. I've never been this happy about watching TV--we have the Spanish equivalent of digital cable, so we can change the language of some programs into English (but the Disney Channel and Sony are the only two channels that regularly have this feature, so it's either Hannah Montana or Will and Grace). So far, I've learned quite a few Spanish words by watching TV. For example, yesterday I learned that the word for "sack race" (as in potato sacks) is "carrera de sacos," and I picked it up all by myself (I asked Ana for confirmation).
I talked to Laurie today for the first time in ages (she's a college friend in Hong Kong on a Fulbright), and it was really nice to hear that someone else has similar joys and frustrations--it's not that I think I'm the only person who finds that living abroad is sometimes more difficult than I imagined, but sometimes I think, "wow, those Madrid people really have it easy," or "they look like they're having fun all the time" even if it's not true. As Laurie pointed out, "Facebook makes everyone look like they're having fun all of the time." Living abroad is a challenge, whether you have tons of American friends or not, and I think that, at times, I've been letting my anxieties about next year/my future get in the way of making the most of my time here. I am lucky because I have great friends, free time, and independence, but I guess that I'm seeing why they said that doing research in another country would take some time to get used to--I feel like I have finally adjusted to life in Spain, but I am almost halfway done with my nine months here.
This week, I have to meet with my advisor to figure out research stuff, go to the bank to figure out why I'm getting letters saying that my two-year residency status is about to expire (and why my debit/credit cards don't work despite having money), and learn what the strange fish I bought at the supermarket is called in English (it is called "merluda," which sounds more like an evil sorceress than a white fish, but it was on sale). I would be staying up to watch 7th Heaven, but the reception is horrible, so I think that I'll give up and go to bed. Best wishes!
. Do you like the mix CDs I made you?
