Of Age, Airports, and Anxieties

I am happy to report that I made it to Barcelona in one piece - a city I have not really visited as an adult. From the air, the Costa Brava and the appearance of the city are such that you could easily mistake your location for that of the beaches of Southern California to the west and north of Los Angeles.  Is that really true, or is it the human desire to fit new things and experiences into an existing framework that we already understand and appreciate?I think that tendency must be one way we, as beings, try to maintain control over our world.

Thus far, flights have been as well as can be expected for an 18-hour journey by plane.  I had no trouble with my connection in New York, and a row to myself on the transatlantic portion of the trip.  I managed to sleep about three and a half hours of the seven and a half.

My connection in Barcelona, however has only contributed to my hopefully temporary anxieties.  I am used to two things that have not happened this trip: 1) flying to Madrid and 2) not connecting to another destination in Spain.  When I typically debark in Madrid, I go through passport control, collect luggage and hit the subway.  This trip I am connecting via Barcelona to San Sebastian.  This means that rather than collecting my bag here for customs, it is theoretically being transferred to my next flight.  I hope that's actually the case.

 It also means that I went directly into the terminal for my next flight.  No big deal, right? Indeed, except for the fact that I didn't have a boarding pass for the last leg of my journey, and I found myself mentally reminded that the Spanish tend to be a little more liberal than Americans in assuming one knows how things are supposed to work.  Nonetheless, a few minutes of wandering and a few well-placed inquiries netted me my "golden ticket" (one of the movies on the flight was Willy Wonka) and all is well again.

I admit, when I titled this blog I had some profound observation to make about age and aging.  Ironically, I have lost it, which perhaps is commentary enough in itself.

At this point, I am looking forward to arriving in San Sebastian, trying not to worry about my bag (for it is in the hands of God, and presumedly, Iberia Airlines), and facing with some trepidation the train into France and the first day of walking tomorrow.  It has been a struggle to not think about my "normal life" and all that entails, but I sure am trying.