Getting here

 I have never felt so many competing emotions on a journey.  It started with Dad and I going to the airport.  Dad came back to the gate with me, and we got some lunch before my plane left for New York.  We said good-bye, and we seemed to both make it through relatively intact.  The first plane ride was uneventful and extremely quick.  I barely had time to finish the Sudoku in the American Way magazine before we had started our decent.  I landed in New York with around 5 hours to spare before my flight for Madrid was supposed to leave.  I found this nifty Mastercard lounge, where I spent several hours using their free but terrible wi-fi, doing homework, and having a couple last minute conversations with friends.  I started getting nervous for my flight, so I went and grabbed a slice of Margherita pzza and headed over to my gate.  I was pretty sure that there was plenty of space on the flight, but with only one flight to Madrid a day, I was still freaked that something was going to go wrong.  When they finally called my name up, I was so relieved and ready that I would have ridden in the cargo hold, if they would have let me.  Instead, I got to ride in business class.  This is how I felt about it. 

I was pretty excited.  We got sparkling wine and a dinner that was AWESOME!  I ate a whole ice cream sundae with hot fudge and watched "What to expect when you're expecting," which was cute and funny.   Let me let you in on a little secret: as awesome as business class was, it was still like sleeping on a plane.  I still slept terribly and woke up feeling like I had been run over by a bus.  Oh well, you win some, you lose some.   Once I made it to Madrid, I had to go through customs (which was laughably easy) and get all my luggage.  Then I had to find my way and pay for the Metro with two rolling suitcases, a backpack, and a small duffle.  It all weighs more than me, at least.  Somehow, I did make it, though I was sweating like a stuck pig and worried about making it in time.   This is what the Metro looked like before all the other people got on. 

About halfway through I had to switch from the pink line to the grey line, which unfortunately was like a half mile away through underground tunnels, at least that is what it felt like.  I've got calluses on my hands from pulling my bags, and it was not fun!  When I finally made it to the bus station, none of the buses appeared to be going to Zafra.  I managed to buy a ticket in broken Spanish and sat down to wait.  It was about time to leave, so I headed down to the "loading dock" and realized I didn't know what bus to get on (no labels!).  So I lugged everything back up to ask someone. 

 

When I finally got everything on the bus and sat down, I was exhausted.  Suddenly, I realized that other people on the bus seemed to be looking for a specific seat number.  So I looked at my ticket and found what I thought could have been a seat number, but maybe wasn't?  I moved to that seat and spent the 5 hour+ ride next to an older gentleman who I briefly fell asleep on and couldn't say anything to because I didn't understand a word he said to me.  I either was that creepy person who sat next to a stranger for no reason or I sat where I was supposed to.  I suppose I'll never know.  As we got closer to my destination, I started getting nervous (read: freaking out).  The bus driver wasn't really saying what stops we were at and many of them weren't clearly labeled.  Signs seemed to indicate we had reached my town, but then the bus driver blew through the station.  I thought all hell was breaking lose and I was going to overshoot it and never make it there and cry and talk to strangers and maybe have to walk all the way back...but then we pulled into the real Zafra station and all was well in the world again.  And that is the story of how I got to Zafra, Spain.