I have debated whether I will force a swim into my trip by driving down the hill and going to the beach at sun up, about 8 a.m. But we have a complicated morning ahead of us. We haven’t repacked, as we got in late from Barcelona. We must clean up the kitchen and leave behind or throw away the food that is left,  Everything must be hauled downt to the car, some 50 steep steps. We must take the keys to the rental office. Then we must begin a 7 hour drive to Madrid airport. Don’t have the mental energy for the swim. 

We have not been extremely pleased with this place. It has great views, but the stove is a puzzle to use, the kitchen is ill equipped, the hot water tank doesn’t accommodate two showers in a row, the place had a bit of a smell initially now seemingly gone; we had to pay extra for wifi and bring our own towels and sheets. I think we are also getting a little grochier to? 

If nothing else, the seven hour drive to Madrid will serve to remind us how Spain has mountains everywhere. We will leave the mountainous Costa Brava. See mountains in the distance as we leave the seacoast. Encounter mountains, significant ones, before making it to the plains before Zaragoza. There will be mountain to go over at the end of our trip approaching Madrid.

We have planned a stop in LLeida, about three hours into our drive and an hour before Zaragoza. It is reputed to have an old town with a cathedral and a castle. The diversion takes us through a sizeable agricultural center on the plains. As we approach Lleida, the area is farmland and not too populated. We see some small towns in far off little centers, but that is about it.   When we get to LLeida, we find people are packed into high rises here, making this modest size town, feel like a city; one that is a bit tired. There is a Univeristy here and we end up in a parking area near it, but never see its campus. The area we encounter coming out of the parking ramp, is nothing special. Mostly, modern city like structures that could use some paint. A woman walks by and we ask if we are near anything of note. She says the old section is several blocks up the way. We walk on looking for a place to eat lunch, but not too much is going on. The neighborhood is clearly made up of immigrants. Muslim women with covered heads walk kids to a playground. African men are walking about. We come to a cafe that turns out to be at the foot of the historic area. It has variety of customers, so we decide to have lunch there in an outdoor patio with umbrellas. The menu of the day is paella we opt for it and a salad. It is full of seafood, but I find the very brown rice to have a strong flavor; it is from a spice used elsewhere in Northern Spain. Southern Spanish paella has a mild rice recipe and it is more yellow than brown. Lunch is fine but not special. But we have stretched our legs after three hours in the car. I walk a bit further on to determine where the historic sites are and find signs for an entrance, which looks like a long up hill walk. After eating, and with another four hours to drive, we decide it is time to end the vacation and keep going. 

After Zaragoza, we turn southwest toward Madrid and drive another major mountain range. For two hours we are on an express way with the sun directly into our eyes. The road is a sea of trucks. The drive is most tiring and when we get to Madrid’s outskirts, finding our cheap hotel is taxing for the GPS, which is apparently tired too. We get the last parking spot in the place and have a cheap but mediocre dinner in the hotel restaurant. It is run by a pleasant fellow whose wife is Cuban. She works the table and asks Ana where she is from. One of the few times this has happened in Spain. The other time it was a butcher who was married to a South American. Perhaps it is impolite among the Spanish to suggest that someone has an accent, as there are so many different languages and accents in Spain. By now Ana has conquered them all. I have leaned on her heavily to get information from strangers and waiters, and to read the signs and keep me out of trouble. She has done it again.

We skip breakfast to return the car. We are driving on a traffic jammed suburban Madrid expressway. The pace is slow and we can follow the GPS without much concern at 20 miles an hour. I am most eager to deliver the car unscathed; we have worked hard to keep it safe in many tiny parking areas and on may busy and unruly streets. I am relieved when I descend into the garage and hand over the keys. Fortunately, Citroen will provide a lift from the hotel where the operate to the terminal. I am surprised just how far that is. 

We are extremely early, as we have arrived at Citroen before 9 a.m. When we get to the terminal, I think we are home free. Forget it! We try to use the automatic terminals to get bag tags and check in. The terminals will not work. We talk to an airline rep to find that they don’t work for international flights. We must walk to a customer service area around the corner. When we do, we find a couple of hundred people in front of us. Though there are nine reps, we must snake through the line for almost an hour. During that time we are fortunate to have a pleasant conversation with a retired Spanish professor from Illinois, who now runs wine tours in Spain. She is friendly enough and likes to talk about herself. This kills some time. Thanks god. Now we head to security. This does not go badly and we think things are finally going well. But after security, we must take a 5 minute train ride to far off terminal S. We are somewhat intuitive about this and take the elevator which gets us to the train quickly. We make it. When the train empties, I tell Ana to take her time as the crowd rushes past us. We will only be walking to the gate and can have breakfast on the way. We let 100 people get in front of us before we find out that we must go through customs? For what? We cue up. At first I think we are in the wrong place; why customs? We are leaving Spain. Ana goes and checks. No. We have to go through customs before we can walk to our gate. The customs guys are about as interested in us as I am them. This is a place to get a stamp on a passport, about nothing more.  We begin to walk to the gate. As always, no matter where I travel, our gate is the furthest away. Always! The gate will be about 500 yards. After one hundred, I suggest we go back and try to get some breakfast. We go to Burger King. It is 11:40. No more breakfast. We have a hamburger for breakfast. Disgusting. 

We get to the boarding process. To enter our gate, we must show our passport. Then to board the plane the we must show our passport again. Six times, one flight! What is this about? It is difficult to express how big and confusing Madrid Airport is when leaving. Coming in was much easier.

We are home. New Hampshire for a while. Puerto Rico soon.