Madrid, 8. de enero, 2008

The Madrilenian airport today even smells like adventure. Terminal four – not one I have particularly good memories of – does a pretty good attempt to smell like Kuala Lumpur so many years ago. There’s less moisture, though. The girl at the metro information desk is impressed with my Spanish and I try to score her phone number on top of a receipt, just to keep my first conversation going.

In the metro I listen to Blink 182 for the first time in what feels like ages. At Nuevos Ministerios I change to more Spanish tunes and line 10 of my beloved metro system. I’m surrounded by short skirts and what I think Valentina means with “fuck me boots”. I feel like calling her and hugging her and sharing my happiness (I know you read this, pretty, and I like you for that).

There’s a chill in the air; the sun shines. A lonely violin player tries to earn some pocket change between two escalators. I find the office unattended and head down for two coffees. An older woman tries to get my attention and I return her a feeble smile: Not yet, I feel young again. I leave a small tip.

Madrid in 2008 will be a rocking crazy paradise, full of new people to meet and old ones to treasure. Some adventures (not too much, please) and the big smile I have on my face since the plane touched down just two hours ago. It’s good to be home again.