Big Fat Spanish Flight.
A lot can be gleamed about a culture by observing how they act when traveling. Flying from Denver to Frankfurt was somber and quiet. The plane was predominantly full of Europeans returning home. The flight was rather booing. Nine and a half hours sitting next to a rather German who thankfully didn’t snore.
Frankfurt to Madrid was another mater entirely. As soon as I got on the plane I felt a completely different atmosphere from the previous flight. It felt like accidently walking into someone else’s family reunion. Everyone on the plane seemed to have the ability to listen and talk at the same time. This of course causes the volume to increase due to inherent competition between hearing and speaking. At first this was quite entertaining, but after an hour of so this it quickly became distracting. This is possibly due to the fact that I only understand about one word in thirty. (My fault not theirs)
Everything during the flight turned out to be an excuse for a celebration. When the crappy airline food was brought out, you would have thought that champagne and caviar were being served. There was much applause and discussion surrounding the bringing of this crappy meal. Then during the landing, which was perfect, on a calm and windless runway, the plane erupted in applause. People started to get up while the plane taxied to the terminal, then an announcement was made asking people to sit down and wait for the plane to make a complete stop before getting up. They were asked to wait for the seat belt light. The passengers reluctantly stowed their packages and took their seats. This took a very long time. The light went out the moment the last person sat down everyone applauded again. We landed around 8pm.
Of course the bags were not in the terminal we were in. Our flight to Leon was canceled due to the airport being closed. Volcano related. It took us over an hour to find out that our luggage went to terminal 4, we were in terminal one. Another hour went by trying to find our van driver who works for the company we work for. Once we found him we had to cross the language barrier. I figured it wouldn’t be any sweat, between us we knew English, French, German, Danish, and Bad English. No one spoke Spanish except our driver who could speak Spanish and Greek. So after driving eight or ten kilometers we managed to get to terminal 4 and retrieve our luggage. We left the airport at around 11:00pm.
The driver of the van drove much like my good friend Kingslya did while we were in high school. He drove digitally. He would accelerate until something made him stop. He would only turn the wheel if the fender crossed a line of one kind or another. He would accelerate into a stop light until forced to slam on the brakes. This went on in the dark for 4 hours. He kept the radio playing Spanish opera at an ever increasing volume with the window open. I guess he was fighting sleep as hard as we were.
We arrived in Leon at about three in the morning. We knew we were in Leon because of the Nigerian hookers waving at us in a roundabout. We thought they were having car trouble but the driver insisted on not turning around. He did use a Spanish word we all knew. Prostitutas.
Welcome to Leon Spain.
Time to get to work
In about three hours.
I am starting to see why some people like business travel.