From Criminal in Frankfurt to Celebrity in Madrid

Walking through O'Hare security and down the long corridor to concourse C, fueled by the frothy cappuccino I had hastily finished sipping a few minutes earlier, I expected the next 13 hours to pass slowly, quietly, and uneventfully, interrupted only by the flight attendants' required safety spiel and the mile-high gastronomic question, "chicken or fish?" I was right, the next 13 hours did creep by slowly and more or less quietly. I was probably the only passenger on the half empty plane awake, despite having two entire seats to my five foot self. Blame the coffee. However, the trip was not entirely uneventful, which I suppose gives me something to write about.

Walking out of the airplane into the Frankfurt airport, I was happy to stretch my legs and look at something besides the back of the seat in front of me, considering I had been sitting and staring for the past eight hours. As I traversed the terminal, I realized that switching planes would not be as simple as walking from one gate to another. I had to go through passport control (no problem) and security (ew). At security, as I unloaded my items into various gray bins, the German security guy told me I would not have to take my shoes off. As I walked through, the buckles on my boots set off the alarm and another member of the security personnel pulled me aside for a full body scan, which included taking off my shoes and putting them through the scanner. I did not realize I had buckles on my boots until I was putting them back on, so the body scan process made me rather nervous. Fortunately, I was soon released and I continued on my way, enjoying the spoken German around me.

Fast forward two more tired and restless hours. Getting off the plane in Madrid's Barajas Airport, I felt like I was coming back from another long weekend on a Monday morning. Unfortunately, all those Monday mornings in terminal 1 included getting lost in search of the metro, and this time, although not a Monday, it was no different. Joder*. After wandering a little bit, I asked twice for directions to the necessary baggage claim. Following said directions, I somehow ended up on the other side of arrivals--the side that comes after the baggage claim. Fortunately, getting back inside to get my luggage was not difficult considering I had somehow managed to miss the baggage claim all together. It goes without saying that there was no passport control.

Meanwhile, sandwiched between meeting the director of the program and getting the luggage, we were approached by a journalist working for TeleMadrid, a Spanish channel, who was looking for American students to film for a feature on, I am guessing, American students studying in Madrid. Although tired and haggard looking, the three of us Burgos girls gave brief interviews to the periodista**, who staged a chance encounter with us. I have absolutely no idea where this video will surface, but if I happen to find it online, I will not keep it hidden. I am slowly making my way through all Spanish media, since I've been published in a Spanish magazine and there is now a video of me floating somewhere in Spanish television cyberspace.

*fuck

**journalist