The Second Day

Waking up today and snarfing down an orange real quick, I proceeded downstairs and met up with Scott and Sarah. We then walked a la Universidad para nuestro examen de Español. 

Yeah I bombed that.

But afterwards we went through our first orientation, and learned lots of useful info from an adorably shy program director. After sitting two hours in a freezing cold room listening to her speak for around 2 1/2 hours, she took us to lunch, where we were able to mingle with the other study abroad students and I could introduce myself to the really cute girl who sat a row down from me. The three course lunch was well made, with my grilled beef fried on olive oil leaving me confused as to how this could be food for a University. After mingling with another group for a while (because the cute girl was at another table, of course) Sarah, Scott, and I walked away with two new friends: Jake and Kyle. 

Jake does ROTC down at Ole Miss, and Kyle is from California. They are pretty cool guys who never learned how to drink and speak quietly. 

Anyways, after lunch we were taken on a tour of the city, where we explored Bilbao with our Housing Director (who of course remembered me as the guy who was allergic to nuts and is Scott's friend, and that if I had let her know we could have lived together-damn) and saw many different sections of the city. After dying of dehydration throughout the 100 degree fahrenheit day, we went into a little candy shop and got bottles of water half the length of my arm. 

           

We then returned to our favorite tapas bar, and said hello to our new friend Llorena (I think). She is a sassy blond waitress who doesn't speak a lick of English and winks and laughs whenever we attempt our Español. I plan on telling her our nickname for her tomorrow: rubiosa.

At this point, we wasted a good hour trying to communicate with cell phone salesmen to get pay as you go phones in order to stay in contact. After some haggling and the kindness of a bilingual lady next to me, I was finally able to put 60 euros down and walk away with a phone that had enough minutes to last me the rest of my trip. 

Afterwards, we went to our little Spanish supermarket and got vegetables and pasta, and had a “family dinner” at Scott’s still abandoned and internet free apartment. After sharing drinks and pasta, Jake, Kyle, and Sarah went out to a bar while Scott and I swung by my place in order to give much needed calls to our family.

Tomorrow we go to the beach. In Spain. What have I done to deserve this.

The Adventure Continued

As the clock clicked to the final minutes of departure from the Parisian hell-hole I had come to inhabit, I found myself anxiously walking about the airport, searching for some way to burn off this last 20 minutes. I decided upon a small French convenience store where I had purchased my bottled water. After aimlessly looking through novels I could never hope to read, I saw that they had a selection of tablets at the back of the store. I walked over to them, and immediately started investigating one. After turning it over a few times, I accidentally unplugged it and caused the store’s security system to go off.

This is why I can’t have nice things.

Then the manager came over and turned the alarm off, after I was apologizing profusely. Shortly afterwards, she shook her head and walked away in disappointment.

Later, as my mind drifted away from being stuck in the same chair for almost 6 hours, I realized it was past my time to board, but the droning automated French voice didn’t say so in the language of the free and the brave. I scampered frantically to my flight, and after checking in to what looked like the broom closet of gates, I walked across the hot tarmac to the little iron tub waiting to take me to infinity and beyond.

Earlier, I was telling my father how I have a hard time sleeping on planes, and that I would just be sleep deprived when I got to Spain.

I didn’t even make it to when the plane turned before I was out. I only vaguely remember a Spanish flight attendant looking atrociously bored as he performed the safety speech and demonstration in 3 languages.

            After touching down, getting my bags in a stupor and being thrown into the back of a van with the one other student who was staying at an apartment in town, I was dropped off at a streetcorner and told to wait for my landlord. Eventually he came out and helped me carry my things to my room, where I met one of my roommates who ran me through some of the “rules” of the house, which mainly consisted of not Skyping and hogging the bandwidth while he plays his computer games.

Simple enough.

After unpacking and feeling homesick for an hour or two, I got a call from a UMW friend Sarah, saying that she and Scott were downstairs. Those gringos were a sight for sore eyes. We walked over to the Universidad, and I felt like I was in Hogwarts. Giant statues, a huge open area, and stairs that were hundreds of years old at least. Or just really dusty. Either way, it was amazing, and after that we walked across the bridge and wandered around over near the fabled Guggenheim Museum. After making a sort of loop, we settled down at a little café down the road from my apartment and had 2 euro glasses of high quality red wine, and I ordered some tapas, being the only real food I’d eaten for probably 14 hours. Afterwards, we went to both Scott and Sarah’s apartments, and cooked a pasta dinner that is to be a weekly tradition for us as gringos. My sadness for Scott was high, as he had no roommates there yet and no wifi to contact his family. After dinner, I walked back to my apartment in the dark Deusto streets, keeping a weather eye peeled for any sort of trouble that could come my way.

            I did such a good job, in fact, that I walked right by my apartment and spent a good 15 minutes wandering around the streets until I finally found the building, double checked with a woman walking into said building, and took the elevator up to my floor. I shortly realized that I could not figure out the weird lock on the door, and was stuck outside my door attempting to open it for a good 5 minutes until I fumbled upon the door bell (since apparently hall lights turn out after 30 seconds-really). Then my roommate Mauro, the one who showed me the ropes, opened the door, and showed me that all you had to do was slightly pull in on the door and it would open normally.

Of course. Of course it was that simple.

And that ended the 36 hours I had been up (minus one for the Spain flight) and my first official day in another country.  My brain may still be absorbing Spanish left and right, but my veins still course with the red, white, and blue.

The Adventure Awaits

Goodbyes are always hard.

            After a heartfelt, completely-manly-not-at-all-emotional goodbye with my father at home, and wiping the tear as I said goodbye to my mother at security, I headed down an escalator and towards my destiny. After making it through security and riding the Dulles airport Star Wars tram, I arrived at the concourse of my flight. Anxiously awaiting the arrival of my cohort, Scott Mcpeek, I went to the closest restaurant and celebrated the departure of my country the true, patriotic way.

With two slices of pepperoni and a Bud Light. ‘merica.

After answering a call while in the bathroom, I stumble outside with damp hands to see my favorite ginger standing near our gate. As we sheepishly ask the beautiful French desk clerk if we can sit together (no.) and me double checking there wouldn’t be peanuts on the flight (spoiler: there were) we headed down to sit in the handicapped seating before BFDC caught us and told us to go to gen pop.  As we sat down reminiscing with stories of pumping human waste out of boats, our (priority-oolala!) boarding was called and we headed on to the plane. While taking our seats, Scott inquired of the little old lady sitting next to me if they could swap their aisle seats.  Her husband was across the aisle, so those plans were nipped in the bud. Using his keen detective insights, Scott realized that we had nifty computer thingys on our seatbacks. After turning it to the camera on the tail of the plane, we witnessed our ascent from the land of fried chicken and liberty.

            Shortly after we became airborne, I realized that I needed to use the restroom. However, as soon as I turned to my left to speak with the old woman, she had completely passed out. So, steeling my bladder and booting up The Great Gatsby, the next two and a half hours went by in a blur. With only three and a half remaining, Scott and I’s means of communication were left to the plane’s computer chairback thingy remote textamajigger (real name, look it up.)

It was terrible.

            Upon our arrival at the City of Lights, I glanced down during our ascent and finally realized how it got that name. After our grossly long taxi down the runway, the wardens finally released the shackles and we were allowed to leave the plane. Overhearing a conversation about the design of these planes from the old woman who sat with me (who complained the ENTIRE way) and her husband, I found out that Delta had a similar type of aircraft that could hold up to 800 people. The old woman asked if they were catering to Asian markets. Hiding my laughter behind half-hearted coughs, young Scooter and I escaped the plane after a curt “Au Revoir” with the flight attendant.

She totally said it back to me too. So there.

Walking off the plane, and heading up the escalator, I realized that I as ACTUALLY in another country. Scotty and I were fine, we realized that we were going to be okay and that there was nothing to worry about, we could figure this travel stuff out no problem.

We were lost for half an hour.

Working our way around the airport (and going through security again, because why the hell not?) we arrived at exactly the same place we started. After half an hour of barking “2G?” to anyone near us, we finally happened upon a bus going there! A man walked over to the door and asked me a question in French, to which I looked him dead in the eye and said “Yep. 2G.” Then Scobron James and I scampered onto the bus, amid tired conversations of things I don’t remember because sleep deprivation, we happened upon our terminal.

Fun fact: airports in Paris don’t show what gate you are supposed to be at until 20 minutes before departure, so that screwed Scooper’s time as were trying to find it. After snapping some quick pics with a real French sunrise, we bought bottles of water using actual Euros and sat down, waiting for lil Scoo’s flight.

After Martin Scottsese got on his flight, I realized all the food ingredients here were in French, so now I must subsist on homemade chocolate chip cookies and slim jims.

So almost 5 hours in to my 6 hour layover, I anxiously await my flight as I write this. Spain is only an hour and a half away, But as my sanity and blood sugar slip, so too does my ability to stay awake.

Paris-Degaulle airport: 1, Connor: 0