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Sunday 1:38 pm
June 10, 2007
My absolute inability to access the internet here in Madrid is infuriating to me, because I should be able to figure it out, even without the WEP-cracking tools. But I can't find out where these two wifi networks are originating from, despite dragging my laptop all over the house. They only seem to be visible from my room. And I wonder if they'd be easier to see from the upstairs terrace, but... *hangs head in shame* ... I can't figure out how to open the terrace door.
But yes, I got into Madrid safe and sound. There's a quality about flying into a new city at night that makes you wonder whether you'd know if you were going over water or land. Spain was full of inky blackness, scattered with bright flurries of light in tight concentrations. The only giveaway that you're not over water is the tiny headlights beams penetrating the darkness, barely visible. Secondly, you're flying over Spain. It's not really famous for its bodies of water.
The light, though, is that old yellow/orange light, and it flickers in an intensity of a sun-bounced sea but gives off this warm, luminescent glow.
I found myself twittering with excitement, unable to sleep on my leg from Milan to Madrid. Florence to Milan I don't even remember, except for waking once to wonder why my neck was sore and stiff.
I haven't seen this gaggle of my family in quite some time, and I was riddled with that excitement that you control only by jittering and flexing your butt. Why is it that at those moments the universe seems to spin as slowly as possible? Once we finally landed, 20 minutes past scheduled arrival time, the taxing to the gate took FOREVER. Once they loaded us off the plane (slowly) they piled us onto a bus. Which sat there, waiting. Why do people always put their suitcases as far from them as possible? And in the opposite direction of the flow of traffic?
Once the bus arrived at the terminal, it was our turn to wait for luggage. The guest area was outside of the luggage area. So I stood, alone, waiting for my luggage forever.
Scheduled Arrival Time: 10:55
Actual Arrival Time: 11:20
Arrival Time at the Terminal: 11:50
Arrival Time of Luggage on the Conveyor Belt: 12:15
...Alitalia, I hate you. And your greasy vegetable sandwiches.
But there was my family, picking me up at the airport. And I was happy. It's been a bit madcap.
I spend my days and nights very differently, thanks to my cousin Cookie. And you know that I pride myself in managing to find a path in almost any social situation. But the language barrier? HARD. Last night I felt like an awkward teenager. It was still fun, but everything felt so unfamiliar that it was hard to get into the groove. It wasn't until about 4 am that I started feeling comfortable and dancing wildly to the music. I taught my cousin how to shimmy her boobs too.
I'll write more later, but I'm due at a lunch with Cookie and Vicky (who send a big hello to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
glib_dichotomy). If I can stay awake for 20 more minutes!
Also, a complete non sequitur, but it makes me laugh that the noreply email address for easyjet is blackhole@easyjet.com.
June 10, 2007
My absolute inability to access the internet here in Madrid is infuriating to me, because I should be able to figure it out, even without the WEP-cracking tools. But I can't find out where these two wifi networks are originating from, despite dragging my laptop all over the house. They only seem to be visible from my room. And I wonder if they'd be easier to see from the upstairs terrace, but... *hangs head in shame* ... I can't figure out how to open the terrace door.
But yes, I got into Madrid safe and sound. There's a quality about flying into a new city at night that makes you wonder whether you'd know if you were going over water or land. Spain was full of inky blackness, scattered with bright flurries of light in tight concentrations. The only giveaway that you're not over water is the tiny headlights beams penetrating the darkness, barely visible. Secondly, you're flying over Spain. It's not really famous for its bodies of water.
The light, though, is that old yellow/orange light, and it flickers in an intensity of a sun-bounced sea but gives off this warm, luminescent glow.
I found myself twittering with excitement, unable to sleep on my leg from Milan to Madrid. Florence to Milan I don't even remember, except for waking once to wonder why my neck was sore and stiff.
I haven't seen this gaggle of my family in quite some time, and I was riddled with that excitement that you control only by jittering and flexing your butt. Why is it that at those moments the universe seems to spin as slowly as possible? Once we finally landed, 20 minutes past scheduled arrival time, the taxing to the gate took FOREVER. Once they loaded us off the plane (slowly) they piled us onto a bus. Which sat there, waiting. Why do people always put their suitcases as far from them as possible? And in the opposite direction of the flow of traffic?
Once the bus arrived at the terminal, it was our turn to wait for luggage. The guest area was outside of the luggage area. So I stood, alone, waiting for my luggage forever.
Scheduled Arrival Time: 10:55
Actual Arrival Time: 11:20
Arrival Time at the Terminal: 11:50
Arrival Time of Luggage on the Conveyor Belt: 12:15
...Alitalia, I hate you. And your greasy vegetable sandwiches.
But there was my family, picking me up at the airport. And I was happy. It's been a bit madcap.
I spend my days and nights very differently, thanks to my cousin Cookie. And you know that I pride myself in managing to find a path in almost any social situation. But the language barrier? HARD. Last night I felt like an awkward teenager. It was still fun, but everything felt so unfamiliar that it was hard to get into the groove. It wasn't until about 4 am that I started feeling comfortable and dancing wildly to the music. I taught my cousin how to shimmy her boobs too.
I'll write more later, but I'm due at a lunch with Cookie and Vicky (who send a big hello to
glib_dichotomy). If I can stay awake for 20 more minutes!Also, a complete non sequitur, but it makes me laugh that the noreply email address for easyjet is blackhole@easyjet.com.
