Madridian Mishaps and Other Misadventures in the Kapital City: The Journey and Destination

After $500 in overweight baggage fees (how could I live without my 18 white v-neck tees and 25 date function t-shirts?) and a 7-hour layover at Washington Dulles, I embarked on the 8-hour plane ride to Madrid-Barajas International. Because I so obviously had to have my fleece blanket and neck pillow with me at all times, I was undoubtedly the most hated person on the plane by the dear man sitting next to me who uncannily resembled Sayid from LOST.  (But I know he didn’t hate me that much because he clearly trusted my in-flight movie selection enough to switch over to Toy Story 3 after I did.)
 
Once I got off the plane, I endured both stares and giggles by chic Europeans at the baggage claim for my overflowing luggage cart, and it did not let up in my attempt to grab a cab to deliver me to my host family’s doorstep.

 
Another Wake Forest student and sorority sister, Taylor Adams, is living in the same apartment as me, so, naturally, we wanted to share a cab. To our dismay, they actually have  fuel-efficient vehicles over here called sedans, and there was no way our combined luggage (in total probably 300 lbs., sans exaggeration) was going to fit in one. After much awkward pleading in Spanglish we decided to take two cabs to our destination, Calle Raimundo Lulio near the Plaza Olivade, a superb circle of liveliness that truly encapsulates what I have seen of Madrid thus far.
 
Unpacking presented some issues and my clothes are now strategically placed along bookshelves and other things clearly not meant to be dressers.  After my roommate arrived and unpacked, my host mother, Elisa, along with Taylor’s (Mari Paz) took us on a tour of the city.  We walked through the Plaza de Olvide, taking in all the sounds and colors, from pastel yellows to brick reds to that effervescent Carolina blue. Within the circle, there is a gushing fountain, restaurants encompassing the plaza and even two playgrounds for the baby Spaniards.

 
As I walked by the fountain, I felt a cool mist from its waters, invigorating me to move past the jet lag and I began to explore my new home. We walked past theaters (now playing, “La boda de mi major amiga”, also known as Bridesmaids) and old, historic townhomes, plenty of outdoor cafés and a plethora of pharmacies, so clearly marked by the green crosses littering the awnings.  
 
Despite my gourmet breakfast of corn flakes and tea, I was ready to have my first real taste of Spanish nom. Taylor and I went to a small outdoor café where we had truly delicious handmade pizzas that were served with mallet-like instruments to cut. Mini pickles and olives were served as an appetizer which positively tickled my fancy and, obviously, I had to order a ceremonial cup of wine to mark my next four months as a legal consumer to be followed by nine long months of underage torture in the States.
 
Now I sit here listening to the sound of jazz music out my window to the Plaza de Olvide and hear children still playing on the playground. It is still relatively light out at 9:25 p.m. What a first day it has been.  I am naturally someone who fears change and tenaciously clings to tradition.  I wear my emotions on my sleeve, and I’ll be the first to say that I tear up often.  But I feel an overwhelming sense of calm here. The ending of this summer brought about an opportunity for a fresh start, and I do smile to think that I may actually be relishing it.  Perhaps the tears will come later, as it starts to sink in that I am here for a third of the year or perhaps they won’t. Perhaps the ending of this summer has paved the way for a Clare that doesn’t look back and dwell on past memories, but instead looks to the future with open arms, as if to say: “bring it on, b*tch.”
  
 *Photography by Clare Rizer