Pamplona. I’m here. Alive.

I’m finally sitting down on the couch in my suite in Pamplona, Spain, thinking of how to recount the events of the last 24 hours before I collapse on my bed for a night of well-needed recuperation. I would have to say that the main theme of my day of non-stop travel was plain exhaustion. I met up with the group of HC students flying from Logan and we were all pretty anxious to get going. The flights ran smoothly: Boston to Dublin, Dublin to Madrid. I decided to start everything off on the right foot, so naturally I made sure that I didn’t get any sleep on either flight AND I had the beef instead of the chicken. Not sure if it’s an unwritten rule that one always goes for the chicken instead of the beef when offered on international flights but it was just the heat of the in-flight moment. Luckily, my iron stomach was able to brave the putrid meat ravioli and there were no problems. And, unlike the last time I traveled to Spain in my junior year of high school, both of my bags made it through safely. No annoying Lost Luggage reports or shouting matches between disgruntled foreigners. Actually, scratch that last one. The shouting match came later.

So we all picked up our bags safe and sound and we needed to decide on how we were gonna get to Pamplona from the airport: 6 hour bus or 3 hour train? Obviously, we went for the train. Two options were available to get us to the train station: pay a  35 euro cab to drop us off at the train station -OR- take the metro which, though cheap at a mere 3 euros, meant lugging our 100 lbs worth of bags across 3 metro connections and facing the death stares and blatant chuckles of the natives as we blocked the gates of the ticket stub machines, etc. Immediately, Aidan was a fan of the cab idea. I’m not gonna go so far as to say that I’m lazy but when a situation comes down to either an intelligent solution or a completely idiotic one, I never fail to make the smart choice. Not the case for the majority of the group who decided that the metro was the best course of action. Was it the weight of the bags and the oppressive heat that  convinced them of their mala idea? Maybe it was the elevators that always seemed to go up when we desperately wanted them to go down? How about the verbal tension between the Metro worker that just wouldn’t let us through the handicapped gate even though the regular gates wouldn’t magically open for us? This is just to say that, in the end, Aidan was right.

But you know what? We’re here now. Together. Alive. I can honestly say that I’ll never forget my trip to Pamplona during my Junior year of study abroad. That’s exactly what this is about. Making memories. Let’s keep ’em coming. But for now, here’s a few to remember:

• Final del tren or Pinar del Rey?
• NO CABEMOS!
• Why is Maura bleeding?
• Don’t forget Erica, you left her outside the elevator.
• The old lady that ruined our train-exiting plans.

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