Airports, train depots, bus stops; simply places we wait to go other places. Time stops in airports. Unless of course, you’re late for your flight. Then, no power in the ‘verse can slow down time.
I have 8 hours today in Madrid. Gail has gone. Mike has gone. Kim and Rob have gone and I just put Kenda on a plane with hope we connect in Amsterdam before heading to Tel Aviv together. Vacation is over and I so do not want to log in to my work email and start the catch up game. The thought wearies me. It’s not that I don’t like my job, I do. I just like being with Mike and my friends and family more. And vacations like these are one of the reasons I work. So … I’ll start slogging soon. It’ll be there when I login.
Mike and I got sick at the end of the vacation. Well, really, more Mike than me but I can feel the pull of a cold luring me to give in. We got a doctor for MIke and he has great drugs — go figure when you can get a house call to the hotel in 30 minutes and pay just $100. Then walk 1/2 a block to the pharmacy, fill three perscriptions and pay just $18 — less than my co-pay for three meds at home. And these are good meds! Narcotics and everything.
Spain is a country where bottle water costs more than wine and diet cokes cost more than cafe con leche, hand drawn and topped with steamed whole milk.
I think they have their priorities pretty sraight. Except at the airport. Where I’m looking at 4 more hours of nothingness. The Spa is outside security (but hey, they have one). No books in English, but a great supply of liquor and chocolate and cigars in duty free. And clean bathrooms at nearly every gate.
Guess I’ll start reading email.
Val
Rachelle