Tag Archives: flying

Hola España – The journey is an adventure, right?

Friday 15 August 2pm: The journey begins. Airports and Bloody Marys – I have a bit of an adventure ahead. Cape Town to Dubai, Dubai to Madrid, overnight stay in Madrid and then catch a train from Madrid to Valencia. Just realised that I have a 9 hour layover in Dubai. I want to kill myself. I’ve done a 10 hour stint in that airport before and it took all  of my strength not to slit my wrists. Too late to get a visa for the day, too late to see if I qualify for a hotel from my airline. Mild panic. Downloads some movies from iTunes, packs extra jacket in my hand luggage for extra freeze factor of Dubai airport, plans on showing Exclusive Books who is boss.

Friday 15 August 6pm: 
In the boarding queue. Makes conversation with hot German guy. Lots of hand gestures due to language barrier. He’s sweet. ‘Let’s get a drink when we land in Dubai’, he says. We land at 5.30am. I say yes.

Saturday 16 August 5.30am:
Plane doors open like a cracked rotten egg. We pile out and I race for the nearest bathroom to brush my teeth. ‘Sweetheart, I missed you!’ Says the hot German. Great company for a few hours, winning. Hot German says goodbye. We sneak a kiss. I think we could have been arrested for that, not too sure.

Saturday 16 August 8.00am:
I saw a sign for a spa. I must have a massage. Oooh, perfume. Stop for shopping. Head to spa. 45 Minute massage, 1 amazing hot shower and $90 later, I emerge a new person. Feeling rich (sometimes I just submit to the fantasy world in my head), I decide to book myself in at the Marhaba Lounge and see what I missed online, while eating free food and drinking Bloody Marys. Food is gross, there is no alcohol (obviously, Candice, it’s Dubai) but at least there is a couch and internet. I diligently learn some basic Spanish words and phrases and then nap to my heart’s content.

Saturday 16 August 2pm: 
Board flight to Madrid. FINALLY! I have never seen so many beautiful people in one room in my life. The Spanish know how to breed well. The woman across from me is hanging out on the chair, with her long and luscious dark curls perfectly framing her face. The shortest shorts I have ever seen. She’s got one leg up on the chair. I can see into her shorts. I’m trying to figure out if I can see any ingrown hairs from her bikini wax. There aren’t any. Realise I am staring at a beautiful stranger’s crotch. Not winning.

Saturday 16 August 9.15pm: 
I make it to Spain! Sun’s still shining. This is a good sign.

Sunday 17 August 7.30am:
After a good night’s sleep, I’m off
to the train station to catch the fast train to Valencia. I had booked my ticket online a few weeks ago (with some language help from my Spanish friend via Skype) so am feeling like a local. I think my taxi driver is taking me to the airport. Can’t be sure. That’s not where I’m supposed to go. His English is bad. Hand gestures and showing of tickets, he understands and heads towards train station. Forgot to ask hotel how much cab fare is. He rips me off (I’m sure) with a €40 charge. I forget all the Spanish I learnt in the fancy lounge adventure yesterday and just shrug and pay him.

Sunday 17 August 8.10am:
On a train to Valencia with all the beautiful people. I translated it all on my own, I’m on the right train, in the right seat. Basically I am Spanish. All the beautiful women in tiny denim shorts. There’s lots of bum cleavage. There’s dishy Spanish men everywhere. They speak Spanish to me. I just stare. Realising that I should have maybe starved myself for a week before I left.
Stop staring, Candice.

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