My flight to Spain left San Francisco early on Tuesday morning and arrived in Barcelona at approximately 10:30 am on Wednesday. The trip included two very short layovers, one in Boston and one in Dublin.* This would prove to be problematic, as my duffel bag didn't make one of the connections.** Thus, my first chance to speak Spanish involved figuring out how to get my bag delivered to my apartment.
After hopping the bus to La Plaça Catalunya, I had to cross the plaza to get on the train to Bellaterra. Unfortunately, it was raining cats and dogs (perros y gatos, as they may or may not say here). I made a dash across the plaza but ended up getting soaked anyway. The train eventually delivered me, wet and shivering, to Bellaterra. There I met Rosa, the HR manager at the institute where I work. The first thing she did was give me an umbrella, and then she helped me open a bank account, check into my apartment, and register my address with the local municipality.
After the uncertainty and the rain and the insanity, I was able to return to my apartment and take a breather.
To be continued...
* About a year ago, my brother gave me a bunch of T-shirts that he had accumulated during his world travels. Whenever I wear one, someone invariably asks me if I have been to the location depicted on the shirt. It always hurts to see the look of disappointment in their eyes when I have to say, "No, it was my cooler and much more adventurous brother. Thanks for asking, though." However, after spending 1.5 hours in the Dublin airport, I can now wear my Dublin T-shirt proudly.
** My bag ended up spending way more time in Dublin than I did.
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