Jordi's Village, Spain

What can I say about my time in Spain?  For one thing, I was apparently so excited to get on out of Asia that I arrived a full 4 days before I had planned to.  It was luck that on the last bit of battery I got a hold of my friend and host, Jordi, and informed him that I was at the airport in Barcelona awaiting his arrival to pick me up.  I was tired and was basically out of money and stretched a bit too thin.

His reply was something about “what the fuck” and “are you kidding me” and that he was on his way.  For a little while I was worried about old Jordi popping me one in the face but he did not.  Instead he rushed over, swore at me, gave me a hug and took my things. 

Jordi is an old friend.  I knew him for a time when we were both waiters at a restaurant and were two of a very small group that actually gave a shit and worked.  He was an international student and spent his last week living at my apartment in Brighton before returning to his native Barcelona.  Now I was repaying the favor, or rather he was. 

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So, for a little less than a week I stayed with Jordi, his wonderful mom, and his incredibly obedient dog at their apartment in a village by the sea, less than an hour to downtown Barcelona.  It was relaxing and for the first time since I left Korea I didn’t have to think about anything other than what I would have for breakfast (usually cheese and sausage) or where I wanted Jordi to take me.

Barcelona

I met his friends on the first night at a dinner party that I couldn’t stay conscious at.  I took great pride in declaring that I was slightly tired because the last time I had slept I was in Thailand.  I ate pickled fish in olive oil.  I met Jordi’s family at a kind of giant dinner party.  For a while I think his family felt bad that I was sitting there unaware of what was happening due to my zero Spanish language skills but I tried my best to make them understand that at this point not understanding was my life. 

I drank wine and I ate.  For two or three days I was left alone as Jordi had to work and I wandered the village, sitting by the Mediterranean watching the waves crash while eating olives and cheese because I am a massive cliché.  I discovered that clothing is not a legal requirement and that beaches in Spain are a magical thing to a guy who had just spent a year in East Asia. 

I took the train to Barcelona.  The rail ran along the beach and I made certain to get a seat at a window overlooking the coast and basically saw a million boobs.  I ate aged ham and wandered around the Placa Catalunya.  I drank coffee in a market and watched as gypsies begged along fountains lined with statues and pigeons.

France

Every night Jordi and I walked along the beach with his dog and then to the market to by cheese or else something for dinner.  I watched TV and read each night in the guestroom in which it was impossible to move because of my luggage.  I did laundry and took a long shower, the first since Cambodia. 

Andorra

We went to the South of France, to an old village in the mountains on the edge of an active military fort.  We saw a woman walking around with a grenade launcher like it was no big thing.  We ate Croque Monsieur sandwiches at a café high in the mountains.  We drove through the small country of Andorra and I basically hyperventilated at every curve along the cliff’s edge.  I saw snow for the first time since winter. 

I met Jordi’s cousin, a local tennis star, and we saw Fast Five in Spanish.  Translation was unescessary as it appeared to be universally terrible. 

At the end of the week, Jordi drove me to the airport.  It was sad to say “goodbye” to him, but it was sadder to know that it was actually all over. 

A few hours later I was in Dublin.  A day later I was watching the doors past customs open at Logan Airport.

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Egypt Air

By the time I arrived in Bangkok, I was all jumbled up in my mind. On the one hand, I was happy to be leaving Pattaya and I was excited to arrive in Barcelona and see my friend Jordi, who I had not seen in a number of years. On the other hand, leaving Thailand meant that the bulk of my traveling, particularly my no-plan-do-whatever-I-want sort of traveling, was pretty much over. It hit me as I ate crappy mandu in the airport that I was leaving Asia. I had been in Asia for over a year, and while I had not been in Thailand for a year, something felt significant about leaving this part of the world. It was bittersweet in that I was excited to see the people who were back home but also it was hard to grasp that it was all coming to an end. How can it really be over, I thought.

Not without a fight.

My luggage was 10 kg beyond the limit for Egyptian Air and the few hundred dollars they were trying to charge me was definitely not going to happen. So, I found a quiet corner of the airport and proceeded to throw away a close to 20 lbs worth of my belongings.

It is amazing what one can part with when faced with a hefty fine.

Basically all of my clothing

Laptop fan tray

Shoes

Ok, it isn’t so much when I put it in list form but remembering that most of the weight I shed was in the form of clothing. I had two rolling pieces of luggage and I left Thailand with one full piece and one totally empty.

The woman at check in laughed and told me that I threw away a few extra pounds and that if I wanted to I could go dig some things out of the trash. I told her that I didn’t care, and further some of the cables and battery packs / chargers I threw away might set off some sort of bomb scare when security found them and I didn’t want to be associated with that particular trash more than I already was.

This flight was the one I was most worried for. I never like flying and this goes beyond the normal phobia. At best I am a nervous wreck and at worst I am all read, sweaty, and having a panic attack while these Final Destination images run through my head. Best case scenario is flying in the day, on a new plane with plenty of room, with the air vent on full blast on my face.

Worst case scenario was basically my flight with Egypt Air. For one, their safety record is about as sucky as it gets before it actually becomes a risky carrier. Upon reading their safety records it seemed they were constantly crashing into sand dunes upon landing and takeoff while they weren’t pulling suicide dives into the ocean off of Massachusetts. The customer reviews were more or less unanimously horrid and my flight path (Bangkok – Cairo – Barcelona) seemed to be the worst. The often cited “run down, old plane that creaks” made me nervous. Further, it was a 9 hour flight in the middle of the night which adds tremendously to my claustrophobia.

Another thing that made me a little more apprehensive had nothing to do with the company but had to do with current events. Osama bin Laden had been killed less than a week before. The news was full of speculation of revenge attacks and the methods they might be carried out. It was just the cherry on top of the shit sundae.

The plane was old, I thought as I sat down, but it wasn’t as cramped as I was expecting. Ok, I can deal with this. I had a window seat in a 3 seat row. Next to me was a woman and her baby which was both a blessing and a curse.

I popped a few Xanax, applied my death grip to the armrests, and waited as the plane made its way to the runway.

I confess to being a giant vagina when it comes to airplanes. I have been in cartel held towns in Mexico, I have seen people crushed in cars and splattered on the street after scaffolding accidents, I have seen a man get out of his car and start shooting at the house in front of me. I was fine through all of these things, but put me on a plane and I almost instantly lose my shit.

The engines charged and soon there was that rumble and we all sank into our seats.

The baby wailed in the dark and soon began to scream. I held on for dear life as the plane groaned and creaked and lifted off. No sand dunes anyway.

The plane began to bank to the right and the baby continued to scream.

A few more minutes, I told myself, and we would level out.

We hit turbulence immediately. It was the sort of stuff that you frequently hit before the plane rises past the weather. It was a little more violent than usual and was a hell of a lot louder to say the least.

For a few moments we bounced and shook and vibrated as we continued on up.

Then we hit some kind of air pocket.

Free-fall while banking to the right and aimed upwards.

It didn’t last more than 1 second but it might have been the single most terrifying event of my life. It wasn’t just me. As my stomach rose in weightlessness I heard other people gasping and screaming. I could see nothing as the plane was pitch black and the windows offered nothing but foggy abyss.

The worst of it was we fell for long enough for me to actually think during it. It felt like that first second of the drop on the Twilight Zone Tower of Terror. I wondered if we were seriously about to belly-flop in a fiery splash somewhere outside of Bangkok.

All of this happened in no more than a second. The plain caught air again and again we were thrown to and fro in turbulence. Half a minute later and it was over. Soon people were sighing in relief and letting out little chuckles. The pilots probably didn’t even notice it. Meanwhile, I spent the next 9 hours sitting in darkness, popping Xanax, white-knuckled. I felt every minute of that flight.

But, I lived. I landed in Cairo, chain-smoked, and a handful of hours later I was sitting in Europe and Asia and Korea were a long ways away.

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