It felt strange paying my fare and stepping off the bus at Seattle International Airport. I still remember the day I was dropped off at the same airport four years ago with tickets to the same location. But four years ago it was different. Four years ago I had absolutely no idea what to expect. Then, my suitcase was filled with clothes, novels for the plane, and a spanish dictionary to supplement the two quarters of spanish I had taken the year prior. I didn't know what I should hope to learn or experience so I did my best to not expect anything at all and just soak up as much as I could. This trip, however, was different.

I remembered very clearly my experiences from four years prior. I remembered the names of people I met. I remembered the food that was sold in the supermarkets. I remembered the spanglish and charades that helped me to order a drink or find a bathroom. Something in the back of my mind told me that this time would be no different. Perhaps this is why I wasn't nervous or anxious or excited for my flight. I was absolutely indifferent. Waiting at the gate for my flight, I alternated my attention between a biography of Theodore Roosevelt and thoughts about my University classes for the approaching quarter. I didn't think about what it would mean that I would soon be in Spain; I thought about what it would mean that I would not be in the United States to concentrate on my studies.

I boarded my connecting flight to Chicago and took a seat next to a man with a broad dark moustache and a young man in his twenties who was presumably his son. After brief pleasantries, I spent the entire flight absorbed in 'The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt'. I would be quite surprised if I ever finished all 800 pages, but even merely browsing through it inspires me to make more of my life.This is a man who published scientific articles on the behavior of birds and insects, learned two foreign languages fluently (and two others to a lesser degree), wrote definitive books on war histories, and all that before his forties when he became the youngest president of the United States.

"Teedie(Theodore's nickname at the age of nine)'s interest in all 'curiosities and living things' became something of a trial to his elders.Meeting Mrs. Hamilton Fish on a streetcar, he absentmindedly lifted his hat, whereupon 'several frogs leaped gaily to the floor,' much to the dismay of fellow passengers.Houseguests at No. 28 learned to sit on sofas warily, and to check their water-pitchers for snakes before pourning.When Mittie(his mother), in great disgust, threw a litter of field-mice out of the icebox, her son loudly bemoaned 'the loss to science - the loss to science.'" - The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt, page 47

I really like this guy.

Just before landing in Chicago, I made small talk for the first time with the two gentlemen sitting beside me.They told me their names and when I asked where they were from they said, "Northern Iraq." and I shivered a little.It wasn't racism.I knew from a first impression that they must have either been Persian or Arabic.I shivered because as he said the words, I realized that our home countries were at war at this very moment, and yet here we are making small talk on an airplane to Chicago.

Chicago O'Hare airport was huge.When I asked a TSA agent for directions to walk to my gate, she just about laughed at me. She made up for it, however, by offering me a ride in her squad car to the international gate located at the other end of the airport.We exited the airport, climbed into her car, and drove for no less than five minutes at a cruising speed until we finally reached the far end of the airport.

I boarded my next plane to Denmark next to a scraggly looking man in his mid twenties who reminded me of every busker I'd ever seen inside of Seattle.After introductions, I learned that he played guitar for a band called "The Bitter Tears".He was changing planes in Denmark, bound for Germany, for the start of his band's first ever European tour.We made small talk as long as it would last and then retreated into our own solitary methods of distraction for the remainder of the eight hour flight.

Flying from Denmark to Barcelona was a different experience.I hadn't slept in over 24 hours and all I wanted to do was stretch my legs and then collapse onto a bed.Even the flight itself was confusing.The passengers were a mix of various European tourists, Spaniards going home, and, as far as I knew, one American kid.This interesting mix made it impossible to know where anybody was from until you tried to speak to them.At one point the flight attendant asked my row to stand up for a moment in Spanish and we all complied.This led me to believe that those in my row were Spanish, only to find later that they thought the same of me.When they asked me later for directions from the Barcelona airport, I informed them I was a North American.They then informed me, in English, that they were Danish.I don't know how the flight attendants survived that flight.

I arrived in Barcelona around mid-afternoon.I was exhausted and grumpy and all I wanted was a soft place to sleep.I hung around the airport only long enough to be told that my luggage had been lost.I didn't care.I walked outside and met with my ride to Lleida.Upon arriving, I stayed awake only long enough to make polite small talk before I crashed on my new bed - hard.