I don´t think it´s inevitable that last-minute things should have to wait until the last minute. It seems feasible that with good preparation and execution one would be able to complete tasks with time to spare so that the only last-minute thing left to do is to sit at the airport bar and have a beer. Maybe it´s human nature, maybe it´s just me, but that was not the case leaving Boston. I arrived at the airport at 4:40 for a 6:20 international departure, and I was checking my bicycle as luggage in a big cardboard box. Despite being one of the last people to check in on my flight, having to drop my bike off at a different "special" luggage carrel, and waiting in a long security line, I managed to make my flight. However, the same cannot be said for my bike.
The flight was smooth, though very full. Iberia Airlines established a direct Boston-Madrid route not too long ago, and to promote it, fares have been competitive. Many of the people on the flight had connections to other European cities, making for excellent people watching. It was also interesting to think that the flight was only about 15 minutes longer than the flight from Boston to LA, bringing up the thoughts that the US is really large, and also that Europe is not as far away as it seems. Food was decent. The in-flight movie (about a waitress in a small-town pie-diner who struggles against an abusive husband, an unwanted pregnancy, a lousy job, and the dilemma of an affair with her ob-gyn, appropriately called "Waitress") was not half as bad as it would seem. The worst thing that happened on the flight was the moment when I realized that I accidentally removed all the music from my iPod.
And when I got off the flight things were going smoothly. No long stoppages at immigration, which I am told is unusual for a Colombian citizen. My checked backpack was waiting for me at the bagagge claim when I arrived. Then I started the search for my bike, which was supposed to come out of a "special luggage" handling belt. I waited until it seemed reasonable to inquire at the desk, and they checked with the people who unloaded the plane, who said the bike would be through soon. I waited 20 minutes and inquired again, this time to be told that the people who unloaded the plane actually had no recollection of unloading a bike. Rather than stay there and argue, largely because Ana was waiting for me on the other side and I had no way of letting her know what was going on, I decided to just put in the claim, and to hope that within a couple of days the bike shows up in Burgos.
As soon as I walked to the other side of the baggage claim area, there was Ana with brother Tato. Reunions are always fun, and this one was no exception. It´s been about two years since I saw Ana, and we had a lot to catch up on, beginning on the 1.5 hour drive to their hometown of Burgos. The landscape on the drive was immediately surprising. You could see mountains in the horizon, and the plains we were driving on looked like dry earth heavily covered with green. Terracotta tiles broke the landscape with rooves of houses, often clumped together into a little community, oases in the sea of land. The two-lane road was in great condition and well marked, making for fast driving on the way home. Already I am excited about getting to ride in terrain like this (assuming my bike arrives promptly).
I have decided to stay up as late as I can and then crash hard. I have no experience with jet lag, but this seems like a good strategy. I´ll let you know if it fails.
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