Brettia

I should have blogged a long time ago. Two whole weeks of nothing is inexcusable. If I were being paid or graded on this I would be fired or given detention. Tyler would say I’m a bad kid. I forced myself to do it today, as I recover from sleep deprivation and jet-lag. I’m sure you’re already closing IE (or Mozilla, I hope), knowing that this entry isn’t worth reading. Well, it could have been worse. I tried to write on the train on the 29th, thinking I might describe the trip up to that point, but was only able to eke out this paragraph about the scenery:
I am on a train chugging through the Pyrenees, looking out at the beautiful Spanish countryside. Sheer cliffs and rocky mountainsides drop to lovely lower country, with wooded areas and fields of a variety of crops. Occasionally we rise high enough to see the Mediterranean on the left, its cold blue waters licking the feet of the rugged hills.
That may have been some of the best descriptive writing I’ve done in a long time, especially when you take into account the fact that I had been packed “crypt-style” into a 1′ x 6′ x 2′ area (my bed on the train) for the last ten hours. Miserable barely describes the conditions on that horribly cramped train. It was hard enough finding a bed that wasn’t taken, but to fit all your luggage and yourself inside was close to impossible. I was in the adults’ room, and we “eased the pain” with beer and wine. (Yes, I had some, but only a little…alright, I’d had some in the train station too…what can I say?)

The tour certainly did have its moments, but it was otherwise quite enjoyable. It was rainy in London and Paris, so the real fun began in Barcelona, where some of our group went to the beach. I missed that opportunity, instead deciding to head out to Girona and Figueres to see the Salvador Dali Museum and some medieval architecture. It was a beautiful day, but humid and hot. I was missing the dry, arid heat of Arizona terribly by the time we started for home Thursday morning.

I was rudely awakened by my roommates (Tyler and Jim) at about 4:15 AM; we had somehow slept through our alarms and were late on getting downstairs. This was not surprising, as we had all been up late the night before. Acting the part of the sensible one of the group, as always, I went to bed at about midnight while Jim and Tyler went to the beach. They had a few drinks and chatted a bit (as far as I know) and came back at about one or two in the morning. So we slept later than we should have. Really though, can you blame us?

With anywhere from two to four hours of sleep under our belts, we rode the coach to the airport, a drive of about sixty miles. Then we sat and waited. You see, others in our tour group were from Virginia, California, and Texas, and their flights were all earlier than ours. So we got to sit around and sleep or be bored and say goodbye to them and wish we didn’t have to be there so early.

Then we checked in and moved ourselves up a strange escalator that had a landing like stairs to the security checkpoint, where we presented our tickets and I was randomly searched, to my annoyance and embarrassment. Of course, I was carrying no weapons, illegal substances, or bombs, so I got through with a smile to the gruff guard who searched me. We waited some more and boarded the plane, where we were greeted by the too-happy Delta Airlines safety video, which features a woman who looks like a Barbie-in-the-headlights at the end.

I learned a valuable lesson on that fateful flight. Never, never, eat airplane food. And especially not yours and your friend’s, too. I felt so sick…it was just “plane” weird (laugh, for my sake). Then we connected at JFK International in New York and ate at Chili’s…that really helped. Tyler and I bought some overpriced gaming and computer magazines (non-politically-correct translation: geek magazines) at a newsstand and then we were off again. I didn’t touch the food.

I fell asleep for the first time in twenty-two hours with three hours left to go in the flight. It was strange: the kid behind me said to his sister, “Three hours to go!”, and then we had landed. The jolt must have woken me, because all I heard or felt was the rush of air as we slowed down from 180 miles per hour to 30 mph. And I was home!

It never felt so good to step off an airplane. I could feel the rush of hot Phoenix air, completely devoid of all moisture. That’s a rare feeling that is only comforting to an Arizonan. Looking back to when I moved here from Utah four years ago, I remember being shocked by the heat in the jetway and the parking garage. People live here?, I thought. And now it’s just home.

So what, you ask, did I get out of the trip, other than greater appreciation for my native country and state? A few blisters on my feet. (We must’ve walked fifty miles around the cities and in the dark subway stations.) A small “dent” in my finger. (I “grated” it on a stone wall trying to break my fall when tripping over a step. Can you believe it was right outside a cathedral?) A better grasp of how it feels to be dehydrated. (Water is scarce; only Coke and beer are drunk in many areas.) Invaluable knowledge of Western Europe and its culture. (I had to throw in something positive.)

From the above paragraph and the recollections of the misery of travel, you might think I had a bad time. Actually, that’s probably exactly what you think. Really, I had a great time. It was awesome. It was unique. It was unforgettable. Just like it was two years ago, when I went to Ireland and the United Kingdom with People to People. I’d recommend such a trip to anyone with enough money and the determination to keep walking, just because you know you might never walk in that place again. Pictures might be worth a thousand words, but one experience is worth a million pictures.