Flying to Spain while watching your only functional bathroom be gutted by two men that look the part of Antony Kiedes and Flea’s part from The Chase. Big props to Rex btw for letting us clean our bods so we don’t go all ‘stinky Frenchman and Frenchwoman’ on the others riding in a steel tube for 8 hours or so. Thomas went with us to Rex’s, and was quite interested in (m)eating Fiona.
We dumped Thomas onto a friend of ours for 10 days or so (and in turn, she dumped Thomas and her dog onto someone for 4 days while she visited her father) and made it to the airport in plenty of time. Our flight was, of course, delayed into Newark by haze. Haze is something akin to waking up after having 2 bottles of wine, not an atmospheric condition that prevents the taking off and landing of multimillion dollar jets piloted by former air force pilots.
So, we spirited through that ‘haze’ and made it to Newark by the proverbial skin of our teeth – 4 minutes or so. There was something unnerving when the check-in clerk gleefully mentioned that if we were delayed we were already booked as a precaution on the next flight. Gee thanks, that really calms my fears.
The flight over was uneventful, if not uncomfortable. Imagine trying to sleep in a church pew for 5 hours – that is what it is like. The seat is hard and bony, the pillows are just too damn small, and there is just enough white noise to irritate you. Every so often, just to make sure that you are completely miserable – the pilot comes on to let you know the plane hasn’t started to fall apart in the air and that you are not any closer to landing than the last time he interrupted your sleep about 20 minutes ago.
All of this wasn’t lost on Maggie, as she was fascinated by the map displaying the oversized airplane somewhere close to Greenland on its trek across the Atlantic Ocean. The plane is approximately the size of Kentucky, and seems to show no progress over time. Maggie was transfixed on the map at times – like a junkie waiting for a methadone fix or me watching the Weather Channel.
We (finally) landed and had the realization of entering into the country through customs. I harken back to when my parents and I waited for 2+ hours before making it through Barajas’ (Madrid’s main airport) customs, nearly missing a connecting flight. We queued in the line for about 10 minutes, then with the non-interested glance by the custom’s agent, we’re through and free in Madrid.
When our luggage made it to us – remember being the last one on the plane means that your luggage is the last one off the plane – we aimlessly meandered looking for the rental car (renting a car in Spain, driving it through town where streets don’t meet at 90 degree angles, superfast speeds – it all sounds like a recipe for death). We went outside and noticed the profundity of scrapes on the bumpers of the rental cars. After no service and no clue as to where to meet the rep, we went back inside and found the Hertz counter. 30 minutes later, we met the agent and she provided us with a car (think bicycle with doors) as well as a map of Spain, not a close up of Madrid. Remembering back to the multitude of scraped doors and lack of insurance, we bought the farm. Essentially, we could pull a Demolition Derby “Jackass: the Movie” on the car and we don’t owe a thing – even if we do bodily harm on someone else. The agent either saw dollar signs or gave pity on us and hooked us up with a BMW hatchback. The damn car is worth more that both of our cars put together!!!!! Maggie sat behind the wheel, put on some Kraftwerk, and screamed “Aufwietersein” and “Would you like to touch my monkey?” as we left Barajas for the metropolis of Madrid.
We get to the Holiday Inn Express located southwest of the city thanks to the kind Limey woman voice on the navigation system (see, I told you she hooked us up). Ahh, we’re in a room with a shower, bed, and bidet(more on this later). So no what? Fuck it, let’s go downtown and do something.
We head out of the hotel, unaware about the perils of getting lost in a neighborhood and crossing traffic, but that is for the next post. Here is a teaser:
We dumped Thomas onto a friend of ours for 10 days or so (and in turn, she dumped Thomas and her dog onto someone for 4 days while she visited her father) and made it to the airport in plenty of time. Our flight was, of course, delayed into Newark by haze. Haze is something akin to waking up after having 2 bottles of wine, not an atmospheric condition that prevents the taking off and landing of multimillion dollar jets piloted by former air force pilots.
So, we spirited through that ‘haze’ and made it to Newark by the proverbial skin of our teeth – 4 minutes or so. There was something unnerving when the check-in clerk gleefully mentioned that if we were delayed we were already booked as a precaution on the next flight. Gee thanks, that really calms my fears.
The flight over was uneventful, if not uncomfortable. Imagine trying to sleep in a church pew for 5 hours – that is what it is like. The seat is hard and bony, the pillows are just too damn small, and there is just enough white noise to irritate you. Every so often, just to make sure that you are completely miserable – the pilot comes on to let you know the plane hasn’t started to fall apart in the air and that you are not any closer to landing than the last time he interrupted your sleep about 20 minutes ago.
All of this wasn’t lost on Maggie, as she was fascinated by the map displaying the oversized airplane somewhere close to Greenland on its trek across the Atlantic Ocean. The plane is approximately the size of Kentucky, and seems to show no progress over time. Maggie was transfixed on the map at times – like a junkie waiting for a methadone fix or me watching the Weather Channel.
We (finally) landed and had the realization of entering into the country through customs. I harken back to when my parents and I waited for 2+ hours before making it through Barajas’ (Madrid’s main airport) customs, nearly missing a connecting flight. We queued in the line for about 10 minutes, then with the non-interested glance by the custom’s agent, we’re through and free in Madrid.
When our luggage made it to us – remember being the last one on the plane means that your luggage is the last one off the plane – we aimlessly meandered looking for the rental car (renting a car in Spain, driving it through town where streets don’t meet at 90 degree angles, superfast speeds – it all sounds like a recipe for death). We went outside and noticed the profundity of scrapes on the bumpers of the rental cars. After no service and no clue as to where to meet the rep, we went back inside and found the Hertz counter. 30 minutes later, we met the agent and she provided us with a car (think bicycle with doors) as well as a map of Spain, not a close up of Madrid. Remembering back to the multitude of scraped doors and lack of insurance, we bought the farm. Essentially, we could pull a Demolition Derby “Jackass: the Movie” on the car and we don’t owe a thing – even if we do bodily harm on someone else. The agent either saw dollar signs or gave pity on us and hooked us up with a BMW hatchback. The damn car is worth more that both of our cars put together!!!!! Maggie sat behind the wheel, put on some Kraftwerk, and screamed “Aufwietersein” and “Would you like to touch my monkey?” as we left Barajas for the metropolis of Madrid.
We get to the Holiday Inn Express located southwest of the city thanks to the kind Limey woman voice on the navigation system (see, I told you she hooked us up). Ahh, we’re in a room with a shower, bed, and bidet(more on this later). So no what? Fuck it, let’s go downtown and do something.
We head out of the hotel, unaware about the perils of getting lost in a neighborhood and crossing traffic, but that is for the next post. Here is a teaser:
Cheers until then ....
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