Adventures in Airports

The first time I ever really traveled by myself abroad, I went to Spain. Now, to be fair to the expression “traveled by myself” I went to go and visit my best friend who lives in Spain so the only part of the trip that was a solo campaign was literally the traveling portion. While this may not seem like a set-up for adventure, I can assure you that airports are the setting for more adventures every day than any skydiving company or scuba diving tour in the world. I had a flight from Chicago to Asturias via Madrid. At this time my Spanish was very limited (I could ask where the bathroom was until the cows came home, but no way was I going to understand where to actually find it). I was good with basic vocabulary words, but was still wary of the Castilian accent. I didn’t think that flying alone from Chicago to Asturias, where my friend was picking me up, would be a challenge. This was a stupid assumption for several reasons and I have only myself to blame. As what I considered a “seasoned traveler” I should have remembered that planes NEVER take off on time. My flight from Chicago to Madrid was more than an hour late taking off. This didn’t concern me until I realized that my connection time was less than 45 minutes. For those of you who have braved Barajas Airport in Madrid, hats off to you. I’d never had the pleasure before this little excursion and can safely say that a week of camping in that airport would not have prepped for the run that I was forced to make through unfamiliar (and might I add, very disorienting) terrain. When my plane landed in Madrid, I had less than 30 minutes before the flight to Asturias was scheduled to take off and I still needed to go through customs and find my gate. In a world where seemingly no one speaks English (do not be fooled by this part of Western Europe. They speak as much English as we speak Spanish) I was breaking every rule in the traveler’s handbook. I bashed through people, was very rude at customs (I may have attempted to declare myself a dual citizen only to be disproven when forced to hand over my passport), and proceeded to sprint through Barajas post-security clearance with no belt (in jeans two sizes too big for me), no shoes, and a backpack ever threatening to fully reveal my culo to the whole of Spain. By the time I got to the gate I was the only passenger not on board. With a stern look and a classic Spanish butchering of my last night (Sue-LAY-ta?), I managed to make it on board the final leg of my flight. While this experience may seem trivial, I have learned that if I can make it through the airport of a country I can (probably) survive the rest of my trip.