So, it's been a while since I've written (as those of you who try to read often might have noticed). I left Istanbul on Wednesday, April 11th, on a flight to Madrid via Dusseldorf. My layover became hectic when I happened to notice my bag, which was supposedly checked through to Spain, emerge on a carousel in Dusseldorf. I spent my short time in Germany sprinting around the airport trying to recheck my bag on the flight for which I was already late. I was shocked when both I and my bag made it to Madrid that afternoon.
The first thing I noticed upon stepping into the streets in Madrid after the long but efficient Metro ride into town was that I could read. After eleven weeks in six countries whose languages I've never spoken, I was again literate. This was a complicated but comforting emotion that is hard to describe. Not to say that my Spanish has survived the last ten years of disuse intact, but it's a far mite better than my Hindi.
I still have some comments that I'd like to write about Istanbul before I go on to Spain, but before I got backwards ... My parents arrived in Madrid for a short vacation last Sunday. I met them at the airport after their twenty-four hour journey and we got to explore a bit of the city before heading south on Monday.
There are many great things about travelling with people who are important to you. One of my favorites is the common memories that you then share. In ten years, I won't be able to turn to someone and say, "Remember that time in Hanoi when I thought I had malaria?" I'll probably not have time to write about all the fantastic places my parents and I saw while we drove around the last Moorish foothold in Europe, but the images and experiences have been recorded in a much more dynamic medium. Even in the age of the internet, there’s something special about an oral tradition.
I will still write about Spain, but I'm feeling a bit behind. Tomorrow, it's off to Berlin to meet my friend Annie!
No comments:
Post a Comment