The weekend following my epic spring break, we had a trip planned to Mallorca, an island off the east coast of Spain and home to Rafa Nadal. I was overwhelmingly exhausted after my travels across the Mediterranean, but we already had the tickets, so we set off to the tiny island neighbor at 6:30 am. To our surprise, we were the only females on the whole plane, which was halfway full of businessmen in their suits off to arrive at whatever 8 am meeting they had. Fortunately, our nice British manager of the Hostel Tierramar (I recommend this one) allowed us to check in early and we celebrated our first few hours on the island by sleeping.
We woke up to venture off to an English bar to get our first warm English breakfast in months, complete with eggs, bacon and sausage. I literally thought I had died and gone to heaven. Then for the rest of the day, we walked across the street to the white sanded beach to lay out, even though it was probably 65 degrees and windy. Once again, the unseasonably cold weather had followed us in our attempts to have a warm, relaxing vacation.
Saturday it was cloudy and windy, so we decided to go into Palma, the capitol city of Mallorca. It was actually more exciting than I was expecting, and we all enjoyed walking around the busy streets filled with street performers and vendors. We even went to the one museum in Palma, which had modern art. I was drawn to the building with the lure of paintings by Picasso, Dali and Miró. Well, they didn’t lie. There was one painting by Dali, two by Miró, and a couple of virtually unknown screen-prints by Picasso.
The next day we were scheduled to fly back to Valencia in the afternoon, so we were resting on the beach and soaking up some rays. About an hour in, we received a phone call from our friends that informed us the airport was closing due to volcanic ash. Our beach trip was cut drastically short as we hurried back to the hostel to confirm the news and rush to schedule a ticket on the next ferry out which was the following day. Since we were stuck in paradise for an extra day, we decided not to freak out but enjoy it. I decided I wanted one of the tacky tourist shirts that say “LIFE IS A BEACH” in neon writing, so I went on a mission to buy one. We all ended up getting them and wearing them, and then hung out for a little more on the beach. Pree and I then decided we would go putt putting so we wouldn’t be sitting around, and we convinced Rachel and Nina to join us even though they weren’t thrilled. However, while we were walking, we ran across a bike rental place that was open, so naturally we all wanted to rent them for the rest of the afternoon.
Such was the formation of the bike gang known as “lee-feh,” derived from the Spanish pronunciation of the word “life” as many Spaniards tried but failed to read our shirts. We explored the island on our rented bikes for several hours before returning to the hostel for our last night. The next day we went to the port to get onboard our ferry for the 7-hour ride back to Valencia. We missed all of our Monday classes, but snuck into first class to pass the time in the big leather chairs while we worked on our mountain of homework. It was a relaxing ending to a good weekend, and even though the weather wasn’t ideal, we still enjoyed our time in Mallorca.
When we got back to Valencia, the avalanche of schoolwork really began to pick up speed. It was three weeks of constant reading, writing, and studying filled with attempts to enjoy the end of my time in Spain. The last week I had 4 finals in 2 days, and even though I tried to manage my time, it really took it out of me. I finished on Tuesday, spent Wednesday recovering, had our goodbye lunch on Thursday followed by my frantic souvenir shopping, and then headed back to the US of A on Friday. I think the scheduling was a little too hectic. I barely had time to finish packing and didn’t even get to say goodbye to my friends. I did, however, get to spend some extra time with the students who decided to travel in the group. Our flight in Madrid was delayed 2 whole hours, and by the time we made it to JFK, half our flight had missed our connections. I frantically lugged my 100+ pounds of luggage to four different terminals in JFK (all of which are accessible by air tram), only to be rejected repeatedly and to accept (with much resistance) the fact that I wasn’t getting home that night.
Iberia would not take responsibility for missing our flight because, I don’t know, they are mean. Delta would not take responsibility because they said it wasn’t their fault we were late and missed our connection. Iberia did agree to put us up in hotels for the night, so a small group of us that was still together all checked into the airport hotel and ate our free dinner. I called my sister who lives in NYC, and she told me I should just come stay with her for a few days and we could fly back to Greensboro together. So I had a little side trip into the city for 3 days where I suffered from severe reverse culture shock while stuffing my face with all the great food America has to offer. I was back in my homeland, and it felt like I had never left.
Monday, I finally made it back to NC with my sister, where our mom picked us up while trying not to cry hysterically. We stopped for Mexican on the way home, and by that point all of my major cravings had been satisfied. My first few days back in Martinsville were occupied with sleep and major procrastination on the unpacking front, and it wasn’t too long until I was back into my usual boring Martinsville routine. Two more weeks until I head off to DC to start my high profile career as a political intern (read: slave), and I am already chomping at the bit to get out of this city (read: ghost town). Some things never change.
YOU ARE GOING TO BE IN DC ME TOO!!!!!
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