It was our last day to get out and see Madrid. So what had to happen?
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| {Shoes and wet pavement.} |
A pollen nastied wind kick up all of the histamines of the city and threw them in my face; all up in my mucus membranes.
As soon as we left the hotel, I was miserable. I should have been excited, but all of Madrid went up my nose and I was horrified at the thought of getting sick outside my usual realms. I did that once in Derby, England and I swear my sinuses (even my ears) have not been right ever since. To this day, I curse that place for my succumbing to illness during that long, chilled night waiting for the stupid East Midland train.
So this vile Spanish wind was bringing a storm front with it. After weeks of sun and hot weather, it finally rained. A passing shower, really. We hung around outside eating lunch to let ourselves get get caught in it. When it got too heavy, we did the city thing and stood under the nearest welcoming over hang until the clouds thinned. This kind of precipitation was enough to drop all the pollen out of the air, at least. I could calm my unreasonable fears of becoming sick. But then I felt… I was overtired, wired on espresso – Full and empty. We were going to leave. I could accept the leaving in a way because I felt I would be back. I would come back to Europe. I would live in Europe. Someday. Hey, I felt that about the UK and I managed to hit it up twice. So why not?
We took one last run around the Prado and went back to the hotel to pack up and pack it in for the night. The next morning and the whole day would be given over to the tedium of travelling in cramped spaces.
Notes: RockStar is a horrible drink, airplane food can give you a horrible stomach ache, TSA is extra horrible for international flights (7 checkpoints? really?), and decompression time is not horrible- it is a must!