I have returned. Again.

Don’t worry guys, this time I promise to stick around for a while.

Well, for six weeks, anyhow. Then I’m off to Aruba.

So, how was Spain? Awesome, thank you for asking. It was my kind of vacation: The kind that’s spent doing absolutely nothing, day after day.

I woke up, ate breakfast, and then sat outside reading in the shade for an hour or two. Then maybe we’d go to the local grocery store to buy supplies, or to the pool for a quick dip, or drive down to the beach, or play Pokemon cards. Then in the evenings we’d go out somewhere for dinner. Maybe to the Italian restaurant, maybe to the Asian Buffet, or maybe to a seaside restaurant if we were at the beach. Then we’d go to Lo Maribu, the local bar, for a drink and perhaps a few games of dominoes before returning to the villa for a game or five of Gin Rummy.

Did I see the great sights of Spain? No.

Did I take in a wealth of Spanish culture? No.

Like I said, it was a vacation for doing absolutely nothing, and that’s just how I like it.

The family that looked after me were all very friendly, which was a relief. Not that I expected them to be otherwise. It’s just that as a dude, there’s something genuinely intimidating about going to meet a woman’s parents on a different continent where no one can hear you scream.

So yeah. Awesome vacation.

The actual journeys to and from Spain were less enjoyable. I laid out my hellish journey in the previous blog, and it was just as painful as I imagined it. The epic layover in Madrid was made even more painful by the fact that my flight to Alicante was delayed by an hour. I was completely burned out by the previous night’s flight to Madrid, and having to wait eight hours for a one hour flight was a draining experience.

The flight back was better, though still painful. I had to wake up at 4:30 AM for a 7:00 flight to Barcelona. My layover in Barcelona was three and a half hours, which wasn’t too bad. I boarded the plane on schedule at 11:10, but the plane sat immobile for a while. The pilot eventually told us why we weren’t moving: Some fool had put the fuel on the wrong plane. By the time everything was sorted out, it was almost 1:30. Two hours of sitting on the plane not moving were followed by a nine hour flight, for a total of eleven hours on the plane. Not fun.

And now I’m home, and life should start returning to normal soon. My body is still in the wrong time zone, as I woke up on the wrong side of 6:00 AM this morning and was unable to get back to sleep. I’m not tired though – just out of sync. I’m sure that will correct itself within a few days.

Let summer ’11 roll on!

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