#sorrynotsorry to any French readers I may have (or had). And yes, I’m using a sample size of n=1 so it’s not totally fair of me but the flight from Valencia to Sevilla left me extremely annoyed.
Today started off rough. I didn’t sleep much last night as I’ve been having really bad anxiety about coming home. Yes, my “normal” life (or even the mere thought of it) is making me bananas. I guess this was how I was less than 10 days before leaving on Adventure Part 1: super anxious and unsure that I could pull this off. Now that I have, I fear the opposite is true…can I return to “normalcy” and all my life is back home? Or is this just the running thought of someone who knows her self-imposed-semi-retirement is winding down?! Don’t get me wrong, I miss my family and need to see familiar faces. And eat a bean and cheese burrito. Priorities people.
My AirBnB hosts needed my room and “suggested” I leave at 11am for a flight departing at 3pm. I have no problem killing 3-4 hours in an airport especially if they a.) have alcohol and b.) have food. I said “no problem” only because my Spanish wasn’t good enough to remind the host that checkout listed on the website is 12p and I check these things religiously. She was a really nice lady who even called me a taxi so again, I acquiesced and headed to the airport to leisurely make my way to my gate.
However, I was reminded by the airport check-in counter staff that the counter doesn’t actually open until 2 hours before the flight. And my flight was delayed by 40 minutes. So, you guessed it, the ticket counter would be delayed in opening. I sat at the entrance of the airport for an hour and half completely bored and completely starving. Epic fail #1.
I’m like fifth in line at the check in counter for my boarding pass and think, OK, I have about 2 hours now to get through security and get lunch. I’ll find a restaurant, have some beer, and all will be good. I should like to think that would have happened if this airport visit/flight weren’t a a calamity of errors. I walk up to the security area and my boarding pass won’t scan. They tell me in Spanish I need to go back and have them reprint the boarding pass. Except the line is double in length (but moving quickly) and I didn’t want to get yelled at by some Spanish woman about cutting in line – that already happened at a to-go restaurant in Valencia and I didn’t want to relive the panic – so I wait. And I get my new boarding pass. Epic fail #2.
I hate French people (more on this). Side note, I was composing my notes for this blog while on the plane and thought I would leave this in even after editing/elaborating.
The security line was immensely annoying. And very slow. And not efficient at all. Do better Spain. It didn’t even help that an agent let me use the fast lane because she recognized me from having to retreat out of line the first time. By the time I make it through security, it is exactly 1:44pm (remember I arrived at the airport around 11:25am). I went to Starbucks and got a pre-made sandwich that left something to be desired. Do better Spain Starbucks. The boarding process was so slow and no on in Spain moves at a normal/decent pace. But I made it to my row. Epic fail #3
I sit down in the aisle seat and a French couple is seated in the middle (the husband) and window (wife). I’m having flashbacks to my awkward Toronto to Reykjavik flight but I’m trying to remain calm. That is, until the man begins listening to jazz music without headphones on, LOUDLY. Like hello French dude, there are other people on this plane and while you weren’t listening to anything offensive, it was loud. If he continued after take off, I might have said something. As it stands, I’m just trying to avoid his hairy arm which is firmly planted on the armrest shared between our seats or jabbing me in the boob. And not in a #metoo way, just in a “I don’t care what limited space you or I have, I will do what I want” kind of way. I hate French people. Epic fail #4
The absolute best part about this plane ride is the cranky older woman in front of me. I think she’s British. I don’t know why people’s nationalities are important on this trip but I have no other identifying marks and it makes the story that much more global. She is in the aisle seat and stands up to let Mrs. Middle and Mr. Window take their seats. And this rude, but very attractive Spanish guy sneaks past her into the seats across the aisle from me. He must have bumped into her because she says in an annoyed tone, in English, “you couldn’t even let me get back into my seat?” He was completely in the wrong and totally ignored her. In fact, her husband had to motion for her to get back into her seat because she was holding up the rest of the passengers.
But the story with Rude Spanish Guy doesn’t end there. No, no, no. Our plane ride was short (about 55 minutes) and I popped up to get my backpack down from the overhead bin once the captain turned off the seatbelt sign. Well, Rude Spanish Guy pops up too, even though he has no bag to get down and I’m stuck with my backpack balancing on my armrest and me in the aisle with no room to move. I’m literally pushed up against his butt (#himtoo??) because Cranky Old Lady is also up and holding her own. Good for you Cranky Old Lady. And then the passive aggressiveness is something out of a movie. Cranky Old Lady let’s her seatmates go first, then she lets the seats across the aisle from her go next and she takes her sweet time (still in front of Rude Spanish Guy) walking her way up the aisle. If I wasn’t pressed up against Rude Spanish Guy’s butt, I would have appreciated her move even more. As it stands, I still chuckled to myself that she got her revenge on his impatience.
So here I am back in Sevilla and nothing looks familiar. In a good way.
Life has a funny way of working out. 2 years ago when I was here, I didn’t get to see the Umbrella looking work of art. And guess what, I’m staying pretty close to it this time. I don’t even know exactly where I’m at but I do that it is home….Sevilla still feels like me.
There She Goes... 