But for my parents, it would be a day of flying for over 7 hours, coming into Barajas Airport on the edge of Madrid, catching a cab with an old driver that spoke not a word of English, and dealing with a six hour time difference jet lag. And all this before lunch.
I was to go to class, which ended at 12:15pm; they arrived at 8am in Madrid and figured I ought to go to my last class for the week (no Friday classes! First and only time ever for this science major!) while they managed a way to their hotel, got settled, and took a bit of a nap. The plan was that I should call them when I returned to my dorm at 1pm and we would make plans to meet up for the afternoon.
However, being the sweet, lovable, caring daughter that I am, I decided to call them at 8:30am, knowing they'd landed roughly an hour before. That I wanted to ensure they'd had a smooth flight, found their way to their place, and had no trouble checking in seemed the right thing to do; best case scenario, I could go to class with peace of mind; worst case scenario, I could find a way to help them out of whatever traveler's ditch they'd stumbled into.
Yet, no response. From either phone.
A little unsettled, I shot them an email, which they said they would check in the event our phones weren't working. All throughout my history class, I continued to turn on my Kindle every ten minutes to log into my email and check for messages. Nada.
By this point, I was starting to run through disaster situations in my brain: okay, they flew into the wrong airport because the plane had to make an emergency landing and they're too distracted to contact me; no . . . no . . . more like they caught a cab, but couldn't speak enough Spanish and now they're in the middle of nowhere on the side of the road with their luggage and there's no cell service or Wifi where they are; no . . . they've been kidnapped and there will be a ransom note waiting for me when I got home!
Or, they were just kidding and aren't actually coming to Spain.
Honestly, I think the last one's the worst.
So of course my history professor wants to talk to me after class about my final project and of course it's a ten minute plus conversation where all I'm thinking is, "I could have hit three metros by now . . . there goes another one . . . yes, I will write my paper on Anarchism, whatever you say--can I please go now? I have two little lost parents waiting for me somewhere undetermined and they need me more than you need my paper, I promise."
Finally I was released from the academic bondage and half power-walked/half ran myself to the metro station, then across the empty plot of sand to residence, then to my room. Still no email and no phone call, but I knew where their hotel was so I dropped off my school books, slung my trusty purse over my shoulder, and ran to rescue my poor helpless parents!
I arrived at the hotel, confirmed that they'd checked into their room, rushed up the stairs to the fourth floor--the elevator wasn't working! Now of all times!--clambered breathless to the top of the last flight, dashed down the hall, pounded on door number 430 awaiting god knows what horrible disaster--
"Hi sweetie," Mom says opening the door with a smile.
Hi sweetie?! No grand escapades of lost and found, no thugs assaulting them on the road, no plane malfunctions, no--
"Sorry we didn't call you back. Our phones don't work over here. Come on in, hon. Close the door." I quietly obeyed. Of course the American phones didn't work in Spain. Trust the intelligent college student to put 2 and 2 together. "Oh and we were taking a nap so we just got your email. How are you?"
Ahhh. A nap. Just like we'd all agreed days ago. Sometimes I have to wonder. Perhaps it's the overactive imagination of a writer in me. Think I'm gonna go with that . . .
Hugs were of course exchanged and I heard all the details about how smooth the flight was, how they easily got to the hotel, how they were taking a restful nap while I silently swore at my Kindle and my Whitewater email account for not showing me a new message from my parents. Maybe this post should have been called, "How I Thought My Parents Were Lost and Conjured Up the Most Terrible Ideas About What Could Have Possibly Gone Wrong When in Fact They Were Sleeping Peacefully at a Nice Hotel."
It has a nice ring to it, you must admit.
Anyhow, we dawdled around while they unpacked, then I introduced them to the metro and gave them the grand tour of my dorm room, at which point we realized it was 3pm and none of us had eaten since breakfast. So we metro-ed it downtown, which takes about an hour and we enjoyed a lazy strolling pace through Plaza Mayor where we eventually found a small diner-like place to have some lunch (by now 4:30pm so late even by Spanish standards).
It was a nice, quiet afternoon of taking pictures, stopping to watch street performers, enjoying the sun and, towards the early evening, stopping for some coffee and a quick snack in Starbucks before I took them to Ópera station where we toured the Royal Palace gardens by twilight. Then it was onto a bus for a two hour tour which finished at 10pm.
Ready to call it an evening and none of us being very hungry, we made a quick stop at Pans and Company for a bocadillo each, then rode the metro back home. We stopped at my place so I could write up instructions for them to get back to their hotel, only 3 metro stops away but a good ten minute walk from the nearest metro, and despite making a wrong turn in the dark, they somehow managed to retrace their steps and find their way back to the hotel by 11:30pm.
This time they sent me a quick email: "We're back! Love you and see you tomorrow!"
Thank goodness! I rested easy, which was an excellent thing because Day 1 was by far our easiest and least busy day. It was after that that things got intense. Tune in for more on the epic Mom and Dad series, same blog, same page.
To Be Continued . . .
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