The third day back in Vermont, me continuing to wake up at ungodly hours of the early a.m., my body still making the slow switch from Madrid time to this time zone.
There is a way in which I hardly know I'm in the States -- I pay no attention to the news, most of my time is spent here at the house, on a hilltop surrounded by rural gorgeousness. I'm caught up in my day-to-day, and though that includes trips into Montpelier most days (as low-key a state capital as you can find), it all just seems to slide by in fleeting, light-as-a-feather fashion.
December sunlight and angled shadows give the day a look of impending sunset -- all day long, apart from, well, sunrise. Disorienting, and a little depressing, if I pay too much attention to the way the sun begins sneaking toward the horizon in what would be called mid-afternoon in most civilized places, slipping behind trees at 3:30, light giving way to darkness around 4:30.
Madrid, three days ago: me throwing things in my giant wheeled duffel (hereinafter referred to as the body bag), hauling it all five flights of stairs. Catching a cab, making the trip out to the airport. Huge lines of customers for airlines serving central and south america snaked out away from counters and along the concourse. And the counters for USAir? No line. None. Making me happy, and compensating a bit for for the sad edge of down-on-their-luck tackiness that seems to be part of the general ambience when flying with USAir. Nice people, though, both at the counter and in the plane.
Onboard, American voices spoke American English, sounding mighty strange after seven weeks surrounded by Spaniards and Spanish. My seatmate: a sweet 20-something woman returning home to Texas after spending 15 or so weeks working in Salamanca, the old, old university town in the mountains northwest of Madrid. She'd spent the entire night out partying with Spanish friends, they'd driven her directly from the festivities to the bus station, the bus had taken her directly to the airport. Her friendliness wilted some as the need for sleep took over, by the time the plane was in the air she was out cold, head hanging loosely as she slept.
Eight hours. Eight long hours seat-belted into that seat, the bulkhead and window shade to my left bearing small brown spatter stains from some earlier passenger's coffee (there's that sad, tacky edge again), the sweet woman next to me mostly asleep, coming to for food, then drifting off again. She returned to consciousness as we neared Philadelphia, December sunlight flooding in through the plane's oval windows.
To that point, as I've written in an earlier entry, I hadn't yet heard a Christmas carol this season. As soon as we entered the baggage reclaim area: 'Silver Bells.' The first in a constant stream of Christmas tunes that could be heard everywhere as I made my way through the unbelievably elaborate airport security maze.
The plane touched down at three. I was free of customs/security at 4:10. The upside: I got chatting with a nice woman who stood next to me in one of the several check-point lines, we wound up eating together, both of us with long layovers, talking for nearly three hours in a large cafeteria area.
[continued in next entry]
España, te echo de menos.
rws 5:21 AM [+]
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