Greetings, loved ones.
A brief synapses of the trip to Valladolid:
Minneapolis/St. Paul airport, 10:30AM
The trip starts with the grupo de Americanas en la MSP airport. I arrive with Leah, her dad, a suitcase, carry-on, and two hours of sleep. I am the epitome of crustiness, wearing glasses throughout this whole ordeal. We encounter some troubles in security when bags (not mine) are too heavy and Kate nearly sounds the alarm for international terrorism by having numerous bottles well over 3.4 ounces in her carry-on. The PSA officer interrogates her with questions such as, "If I open your bag, will anything poke me?" (answer: "Maybe, there's a tweezers") but the bag is eventually checked, sparing the Aveda contents. Spanish life lesson 1 (follow airline regulations and don't try to sneak in things you know won't get through): learned.
After a jaunt to Philadelphia in which Kate and I spend the trip studying a bit of Spanish (me for about the first time since tenth grade or so), we pair up again on the flight to Madrid. After failed attempts to sleep, we watch such sure to be cinematic classics as "The Tourist" (a movie confused about its genre) and "Adam". Throughout these seven hours I have a great desire to sleep and aid it with medication that acts as a mild sedative, but for some reason it decides not to kick in until about an hour before the flight is over. In a very disoriented state, I get my bags, hop on a bus to Valladolid and gather for the meeting of the moms.
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