It is 6:45 in the morning on the day of the summer solstice, the longest day of the year everywhere in the northern hemisphere, and I find myself at the Press Coffee on the northeast side of Iowa City. I have a french press for two of Peruvian (love you, honey) coffee in front of me and some banana bread to go along with it. I have a couple of books and a magazine to read. And I'm happy, I really am. But I still wish I was in Spain.
Infectious Spain.
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They told me, years ago, 15 years ago, that Spain was dangerous. And boy, was it. I went by myself to the city of Salamanca, on a scholarship, to "deepen my understanding of the Spanish language". We had 4 hours of classes every morning and then various activities in the afternoon and evening. But the sun sets late in Spain (today, for example, the sun sets in Iowa City at 8:43, but in Salamanca, it's 9:58) and the dangerous hours came after that. Everybody in the group came from somewhere else and we got to know each other real well in those 4 daily hours of class. One time, we went out for some drinks to what was supposed to be the "hot" bar in Salamanca and we were the only people there. I asked the bartender what was going on and he said, "It's still really early, dude". It was 1:30 a.m.
Fate brought me back to that bar about 4 hours later, and it was packed to the gills. Yeah, Spain was dangerous. Night-owl Spain.
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I'm a different man now than I was then, at least in some ways. And the mission was different this time: I was going to Spain not as a student, but a teacher. I took eight students with me. And I wouldn't be two weeks in one city, but eight days frantically trying to see as much as we could in eight days, in seven (seven!) different cities, not to mention have a day at the beach. The goal wasn't for me to deepen anything about myself, but to provide the students with as many eye-opening (eye-popping?) opportunities as possible. And instead of classes, we had lots (LOTS!) of time in a bus and miles of heat-drenched tours to get to know one another.
It was the first time I had done something like this, and I was a bit nervous. But the kids were PHENOMENAL. I'm pretty sure they had a great time. I know I did, despite the constant bus-hopping, changes of lodging, WAY too many tours (for my taste) with guides talking to us through earpieces, and a suitcase that I overpacked despite all warnings to the contrary. We arrived in Barcelona a week ago Tuesday afternoon, the 10th, and flew back there from southern Spain a week later, because our flight home was Wednesday. Some of the kids had had enough, and were ready to get home to their parents (they're still kids, after all). But others felt like me: we had gotten a taste, we were just getting into the rhythm, and we were being forced to go home now. NOW?
That night, it wasn't me who stayed up late (by Spain standards, anyway), but several of my students. Not ready to say goodbye to their new friends. Not ready to say goodbye to Spain. They, too, had found out that Spain was dangerous.
Addictive Spain.
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I got back to my house about 31 hours ago, and last night, for the first time since before leaving on the trip, got some really solid, long-lasting sleep. But in Spain it's 2:20 in the afternoon, time for free time and lunch and our own, and my body and brain are still there.
Today I'll drink as much coffee as I need to to push through the day, and I'll try to stay up late enough for the solstice sunset at 8:43. It will be 3:43 a.m. in Spain at that time, and I'm sure that will pass through my mind as I prepare for sleep.
There's heat forecast for this weekend, as well, Close to a hundred degrees. Spain style heat. I'm sure Spain will pass through my mind as I deal with that.
All that, I suppose, is the sign of a successful travel experience. And for that, I am so grateful. The solstice, winter and summer, are occasions for introspection, the extremes of the heavens prodding us to examine our own extremes and offer a chance to moderate them. I have plenty of things in my life that could stand to be moderated.
But these last 12 days, this God-given whirlwind of an experience with eight marvelous kids? It was extreme, all right. But I wouldn't moderate if for anything in the world. If it were up to me, I'd've kept going.
Beautiful, dangerous Spain.
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