The Rain In Spain Falls Mainly… On My Brain.

You thought I was going to say ‘On The Plain’, didn’t you?

That’s very Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady of you. Most definitely an awesome movie.

I made it rhyme, though. Pretty good, huh? I outta be a poet.

Wait, don’t go!

Moving on…

So, I went to Spain a several years back with a boyfriend. We’ll call him Lugnut for purposes of anonymity. Mine, not his.

This was my first time overseas. I was flying alone and meeting him there. I’m already a nervous flier (no shit? there’s a shock). I had several transfers to make, and was nervous about flying alone into a foreign country. (The importance of this will be relevant later.)

We stayed in a small town in Spain called Torrevieja (Old Tower). It’s called that because there’s an old tower there.

Very creative name for a town, don’t ya think? I wonder how long it took them to come up with that? A day, a week, three-hundred years?

Maybe they were having a hard time thinking of a name in the first place so they built a tower for which to name the town after. Do you think the town was called Torrenueva (New Tower) when they first build it? Or do you think they just waited three-hundred years for the tower to get old before they populated the town?

My guess is the latter.

This kind of weirdness permeated the entire trip. Permeated it like a thick black tar. Not unlike the crap washing ashore in Louisiana and Santa Barbara right this moment: That oil-drilling residue tar that just sticks to you and is damn near impossible to remove.  Ever have that shit stuck on your feet? It’s hella hard to get off.

The weirdness started when I landed in Madrid where I needed to transfer flights, yet again, to Alicante.

My already-delayed plane lands after a too-long, turbulence-ridden flight from Miami, and I barely make my way over to the next terminal in time for my connecting flight. Heart racing, I think I’ve made it in time only to learn my luggage had been sent on a separate plane by the people in charge of luggage on planes. Yes, those asshats.

Black tar begins permeation now.

The luggage-losing asshats work closely with the policy-making asshats.

Iberia Airline’s policy is not to allow you to fly on a different plane then your luggage. They weren’t going to let me get on the plane.

WTF?! I’m not the one who separated me from my luggage! It was the luggage asshats! Their own people!

They let the plane leave WITHOUT ME. Bad idea.

I have a tendency to panic, as my regular readers may know. I’m now stuck in a foreign country, alone, nowhere near my destination, without my luggage, speaking only enough espanol to order beer and tacos.

Panic sets in.

TO BE CONTINUED… in a series of shorter*, and therefore hopefully more interesting/readable, posts as I take you on a tour of my trip through Spain. Come back and see Spain through the eyes of a Bonkers Blogging Blond! 🙂

*Post length is a frequent debate among bloggers and I’ve recently joined a group where this came up. I’d love to know your thoughts… would you prefer this, and similar posts, be longer and fewer, or shorter with more in a series? Or should I just learn to say less altogether? (Well, that last one’s not really gonna happen. LOL)