Post II: Bienvenidas a Madrid

Note: Written without wireless (Jan 18). Updated after the fact.


Buenos días y gracias por volando con Iberia.

Good morning and thank you for flying Iberia.

Chirps the intercom when it inevitably becomes 6 AM Madrid time. Granted, it's 11 PM in Chicago, the city that we departed from, but details details. Either way, it's good that the disembodied voice that just initiated a full airplane overhead light revival is pre-recorded, or some slick-toned flight attendant would have a very grumpy group of college kids to deal with on this fine Spanish morning. They groan awake on all sides, unused to staying up this late unless there is alcohol involved, and the excited chatter begins.

Nearly everyone on this plane is headed for the international university in Seville, Spain for a four-month study abroad program. It is apparent that they come from colleges all over the States. Of course, with this enormous selection of college-aged gentlemen on the plane, I was seated to literally one of three old men. Still, no real reason to complain! The Germany native was an excellent conversational partner and we spoke on such topics as racism, the European college system, and I'm certain the strange sounds he made while asleep were a subconscious agreement with me that the breakfast selection was positively morbid. He's been to Madrid several times on such choice red eye flights and he had to agree that this morning's breakfast selection was decidedly lacking.

Menú (If you say it like it's French, it adds class)

• A plastic cup of non-pulp orange juice
• A muffin- apparently made out of compressed sugar and grain (bite-size!)
• A dry mini-sandwich smaller than a fist
• Deteriorating honey-dew
• A Kit-Kat bar

While the rest of the menu was a bit high society for me, I enjoyed my working class Kit-Kat bar and then promptly walked down the length of the plane- which effectively burned off all of the calories that I had potentially just consumed. You would think that on such a long plane they would be able to spare another inch or so of leg room. And that for such an expensive airline they would be able to afford more than three, slightly concerning televisions running down the middle row, that appeared to be prepared to disconnect from the ceiling should we confront turbulence. These are the questions that haunt us. 

Still, with all of this, it was the fastest international flight that I've had. We were flying over Spain before I knew it and I couldn't have been happier to see Madrid. I forget how enormous it is and, having never flown over it at night, was pleasantly surprised at the complex spiderwebbing of lights that seem to be the result of the particular urban layout adopted by European cities. It was a good thing to land to. And now to Bilbao!

Or rather, four hours of layover. And then to Bilbao!