The door to the sun

The Madrid International Airport looks like it was designed by Ikea for giant sized travelers. There are giant circular lights hanging from the warehouse style ceiling, one row right after another as far as the eye can see. We pass glass encased escalators and walk over a buffed cement floor. I just woke up- BJ says I slept through a period of turbulence, three countries, and some snow capped mountains. I was awake to hear him order a coke and maybe rest my head on his shoulder for a while but other than that I fell asleep in London and found myself awake in Madrid and the labyrinth that is their airport.
We took an escalator to a wide open space, line to customs, escalator, escalator, bus to terminal, escalator, escalator, bus to terminal 1, moving walkway, wide open space, lost again, ask for directions, el metro no esta aqui, bus to terminal 4, escalator, metro station, train to puerta del sol.
I sat down and put my hand in his. I guess I wasn't expecting the casual way in which he spoke to the security guard or how easily we navigated the entire maze or how delicious that chocolate bar was that I bought from the pescoe in nottinghill. But it was all true and I was filled with a pride that kept me awake the rest of the day. That and the knowledge that upon arrival to our hotel there would be hot showers and a building titled "El Museo de Jamon" (The museum of ham).

We are here, this is our stop. We gather our things and step off the train and make our way to the stairs, being careful to follow the signs. Salida, this way. Up the stairs and into the sun. Men push flyers at me and I use my skills from growing up in Manhattan to ignore their advances. The square is huge and we stop to look at it for a second. Streets feed into it like tributaries carrying cars and people to and from it's core. No one is speaking english. No one is wearing sperry topsiders. No one can be in love more than us. This is Spain and it's frustrating and exciting and we're lost again. BJ is starting to get sick, he said he had a cough in London but it's getting worse now. And every second that we prolong our not finding the hotel is making him wheeze and cough and wipe sweat off his brow. We walk up and down streets looking for the one that leads us to clean sheets and towels. We ask police officers, but their answers only serve to confuse us more and it's not clear if we're ever going to find a place to lay our bags down. It's getting dark and the lights of the city are coming on. The Plaza mayor leads us to our destination and I give BJ a high five and kiss him on the cheek. He is the navigator and translator, I am the cheerleader. Spain is unlike anything we've seen before.