DL 1189 to Salt Lake City

DL 0702 to Boston

DL 0376 to Atlanta

DL 721 to Atlanta

DL 108 to Madrid 

   This trip had a lot of moving parts to it, being we broke our own rule about reserving accommodations before having our standby seats confirmed.

   Sometime last fall, we locked in a six-week reservation to what has become a true second home in Rota, Spain. That’s a pretty big matzo ball hanging out there when you literally fly by the seat of your pants the way we do.

When they rolled the bar cart down the aisle for the first time after takeoff, she asked, “Do we pay for the wine back here?”

   Plus Carol wanted to add a wrinkle of a flight to Boston to visit her sister. That meant we needed to roll the dice on four separate flights on two separate days in order to arrive in Rota for our April 1 reservation start date. The mother of all April Fool’s excursions right?

   Yet there we were on March 29, fastening our seat belts into seats 40C and 40D for our flight to Madrid. The serendipity of this minor logistical miracle, though, seemed lost on Carol as we failed to score the pod seats we’ve often snatched in Business One for our Europe flights. When they rolled the bar cart down the aisle for the first time after takeoff, she asked, “Do we pay for the wine back here?”

   Mind you we’ve been blessed with frequently flying internationally with the pod people, but I hadn’t realized she’d become so enamored of that luxury that being shunted to the main cabin this time would feel like the 3rd class Irish dance party scene in Titanic for her.

   This trip also felt more like an escape than an extended excursion. No soap box being ascended here, but we took extra pains this time to not advertise our country of origin on our luggage. Yes, we prefer not to be a target, but more importantly, we prefer to conceal our shame.

   Arrival in Madrid provided a first opportunity to sense if there was any noticeable change in attitudes toward Americans. I trotted out my first level Spanish and felt assured we’d still be regarded as helpless and hopeless Americans. I mean, how many times does it take to speak in what you believe to be perfect Castillian Spanish only to be answered immediately in perfect King’s English to realize you’re still a rube to the locals.

   We did our first big grocery trip shortly after arriving. I needed Google translate a lot less this time, asking for whole chicken breasts (entero pechugas de pollo), ground beef (carne hamburguesa) and lettuce (lechuga). I did have to Google basil (albahaca), but I was certain I knew the right word for garlic (ajo) until I repeated it three times to a shopkeeper until I finally blurted “garlic.” (The gentleman was Asian, so maybe I’m off the hook here?)

   But here’s the one grocery purchase you might be waiting to hear about. I picked up a dozen free range, farm fresh eggs, expecting a cash advance on my credit card might be required for purchase. The price was $2.97.

    Put the same effort to eliminating the bird flu epidemic, Mr. Trump, that you’re expending on sending innocent human beings to Salvadoran gulags and you might actually begin to make America great again. In the meantime, the next six weeks here in Rota will be like home, thank you very much.